Here Comes the Sun
by WickedForGood13
Summary: Frodo suffered many trials throughout the Quest. Now, safely back in the Shire, though not entirely free from the Ring's influence - or so Frodo thinks - he starts to heal with the help of his loyal and ever-faithful Sam.
1. Chapter 1

"_I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"_

_So saying, Frodo slipped the Ring on his finger, a devilish smirk playing across his face that was now devoid of the kindness and compassion that had once endeared him to so many. Sam stood helplessly by, unable to do anything but watch as his beloved master disappeared from his sight. And then - Gollum was there, fighting with Frodo for possession of the Ring. But Frodo overpowered him and flung Gollum over the abyss into the flames below. There was a screech of pain, the likes of which made Sam want to cover up his ears - and Gollum was no more._

_Now visible once more, Frodo turned his gaze on Sam, who refused to run from his master, despite the unholy gleam in his eyes that warned the simple hobbit of danger. Sam stood his ground as Frodo advanced._

"_You are mine, Samwise Gamgee! Do you hear me? All mine!" Frodo proclaimed, gripping Sam tightly by the arms and pushing him none-too-gently to lie down on the stone ground, cold despite the fires raging below them._

"_Yes, Mister Frodo," whispered Sam, breathlessly. "I'm yours, and always have been."_

"_Now I mark you as mine, and thus stake my claim," said Frodo, and for the first time, Sam became aware of a hardness pressing into his thigh. He gasped as he realized his Frodo's intent._

"_Please, sir," he begged, "You don't want me - not like this."_

"_Oh, but you're wrong, Sam," whispered Frodo, and Sam caught a glimpse of the old Frodo from the Shire - his kindly master, Frodo - in both his manner and looks. His next words, though, shattered that image, "I want to take you, hard and fast, so that you'll never think of bedding anyone else as lovers do."_

"_Begging your pardon, sir," said Sam, "But if you took me the way you say, that wouldn't be lovin'-like, to my mind."_

"_No one asked your opinion," Frodo hissed as his eyes went completely black, instead of the pleasant blue color that put Sam in mind of a crystal clear lake on a fine summer's day, and he suddenly struck Sam hard across the face. The force of the blow caught Sam off guard and prevented him from resisting Frodo's advances as he unbuttoned Sam's shirt before moving to unlace his breeches._

"_Please, sir," Sam whimpered as he was completely bared before his master. Though he had fantasized of Frodo taking him many times, such fantasies had taken place in Hobbiton - perhaps in Frodo's own bed or in the hills surrounding the Shire - but never like this._

_Although Sam was normally accommodating to a fault where Frodo was concerned, the hobbit crouched above and taking him roughly in his mouth was not Mister Frodo. That thought alone gave him the courage and strength to fight back and attempt to throw off the hobbit impersonating his beloved Frodo. Still, he wasn't entirely successful, as he didn't want to truly harm the look-alike Frodo. And that gave the Ring-crazed Frodo an opening which he took full advantage of, wrapping his slender hands around Sam's throat and beginning to squeeze with all his might._

"_Please, sir," Sam whispered, begging with his last breath for his Frodo to return. He didn't beg for his life; that wasn't worth one whit if his Frodo wasn't there beside him. No, he begged for Frodo to remember their life in the Shire from before and all the good times they had shared: the food and drinks, the friendship and laughter..._

Frodo awoke with a start, looking down to find Sam pinned beneath him on his bed in Bag End, his hands wrapped around Sam's throat as his face steadily turned purple from lack of oxygen. Quickly, Frodo released him and scrambled off of the bed to put some distance between them. As he did so, he realized that his dream had made him hard, and he was struck by the realization of what might have happened had he not woken up when he had.

Sam, having regained his breath, rose to his feet and slowly made to approach Frodo, his arms outstretched in the universal sign of surrender.

"Don't come near," Frodo whispered, holding up a shaky hand to halt Sam's progress, his voice still harsh from the after-effects of the dream. Sam froze in his tracks, looking on Frodo - not with hurt, as Frodo had expected, and, truth be told, welcomed - but with sympathy.

"You were dreaming of... _It_, weren't you?" Sam asked without judgment or censure.

With a cry, Frodo sank to the ground, having backed himself into a corner, and raised his knees to his chest, wrapping his hands around his ankles and proceeding to rock back and forth as he sought to conquer the night-demons that still plagued his sleep - and, even on occasion, his waking hours. There were many instances where only Sam's soothing voice and reassuring touch had recalled him from the brink of despair as he re-lived some moment or other from the seemingly-impossible Quest he had embarked on with only his Sam for company.

"Come back, me-dear," whispered Sam, and Frodo opened his eyes - since when had he closed them? - to discover Sam kneeling in front of him, hands outstretched as if to touch him but waiting for permission.

"Sam..." Frodo whimpered pitifully, and found himself enfolded in Sam's sturdy embrace.

"I'm here," Sam whispered in his ear. "You'll never be alone; I'll always follow, wherever you will go."

Frodo found that he was crying, but realized that the tears dripping down his cheeks were not all his: Sam was crying, too. _His_ Sam, his unflappable gardener, had been reduced to tears because of him. He made to pull away, and thus remove himself from Sam's presence, but the other hobbit merely tightened his arms around Frodo and refused to let go.

"No, you need me and I'll not desert you now," Sam whispered fiercely. "I never could," he added brokenly as he recalled the one time he had and the torture inflicted on Frodo as a result.

"Dear Sam..." Frodo murmured as he wound a hand around Sam's tousled curls, hugging him to his breast.

Sam closed his eyes against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him at hearing his name spoken so tenderly - almost reverently - by his master, and he had to remind himself of his place, lest he give himself hope that his feelings were returned.

The pair of hobbits remained crouching on the floor for many minutes - Frodo trembling in the safety of Sam's arms - until Frodo's stomach rumbled as a reminder to Sam of the duty he had to his master.

"Forgive me, sir," he stammered, releasing Frodo as if he had been burned. "You'll be wantin' your breakfast - and a nice warm cup of tea, I'll warrant. That'll take care of those shakes."

Frodo smiled at Sam and moved to stand, only for Sam to take his hands and help him up himself. Frodo felt a surge of energy where their skin touched, and wondered if Sam could feel it too. He sensed his face becoming flushed, heating up from such close contact with his secret love. His lips parted, unbidden, and his breath came in short, harsh gasps as he fought the urge to close the miniscule gap between himself and Sam to connect their lips. Truth be told, he didn't trust himself to stop at a mere kiss, not after that dream. He feared hurting Sam, which would kill him in turn, destroying his very will to live. He drew back, releasing Sam's hands, and found his good sense returned to him.

"Alright, there, Mister Frodo?" inquired Sam, who hadn't failed to notice his master's flushed features and his shortness of breath.

"I'm fine, Sam," said Frodo, choosing not to examine Sam's concern too closely.

_He only cares because we're friends, because I pay his wages. I'm the master and he's my servant_, Frodo reminded himself harshly, while doing his best not to quail at simplifying his and Sam's relationship to such an extent. _But... is it possible that he cares for me as I do for him?_

Shaking his head to clear it of such wild thoughts, Frodo forced his still-shaking limbs to obey his command as he walked out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen, unaware of Sam's eyes boring a hole in the back of his head.

Since their return to the Shire many months before, Sam had become more attuned to his master's moods: he knew when Frodo wanted company, when he wanted to be left alone, even when he thought he wanted solitude but really desired companionship… that of _Sam_, specifically. As he and Sam had traveled throughout the Shire, offering healing to both the land and its people, Sam had watched his master with a keen eye, watching as his bodily health deteriorated and he sank into a depression, refusing even to leave the smial.

Sam was at a loss: on the Quest, there had always been something for him to do, whether that entailed fetching Frodo some water or keeping watch over his master's sleep, forgoing rest - and even on occasion, especially towards the end of their journey, food - himself. Now, though, that both were safely back in the Shire, Sam's service was required less than while they had been in danger. He no longer felt useful to Frodo, which had always been his purpose before they left: to serve.

Following his master into the kitchen, Sam set about to make them both some breakfast. He'd long ago given up trying to convince Frodo that he had no right to join the master of Bag End at the table, as though they were equals. Frodo wouldn't hear a word about how Sam was socially lower than him, and could stand even less to hear the many sayings of Sam's Gaffer, who was a sore point where Frodo was concerned.

When Frodo had first started teaching Sam how to read and to write, the Gaffer had pitched a fit and soundly thrashed his son for presuming to rise above his station. Despite being in obvious pain from the welts covering his legs and back, Sam had dragged himself to work the following day; Frodo had gone white with rage when he had seen him. After tending to Sam's injuries and ignoring his friend's - for Sam was his friend, first and foremost, before he was his servant - protestations and obvious embarrassment at his present condition, Frodo had gone to confront the Gaffer. His defense of Sam and his indignation on his friend's behalf was so fierce that the older hobbit had had no choice but to yield and permit Sam to continue his lessons with Frodo.

As Sam bustled about the kitchen, he smiled to himself as he recalled the Gaffer's sincere apology upon his return home that particular evening. He had remarked that Sam had a remarkable ally in Frodo, who was a good and kindly master. Sam replied that he valued Frodo's friendship, and that he had no intentions of forgetting his place.

_But you have forgotten your place, Samwise Gamgee_, the younger hobbit chided himself. _You love the master, when you have no right feelin' that way 'bout him. He's a gentle-hobbit and you're a gardener, his servant. That's all you'll ever be, nothin' more. Just because you helped him to save Middle-earth by destroying the One Ring, that doesn't prove anything. Just goes to show how loyal you are to the master, and would do anything for him, even walk into Mordor should he so require it of you. You're friends, but only because it pleases him. Frodo owns you, body, heart, and soul, and don't you forget it, Samwise Gamgee!_

"Sam," called Frodo, his gentle voice breaking through the other hobbit's reverie.

"Yes, master?" he replied, choosing to ignore the way Frodo always seemed to flinch whenever he was addressed by some honorific or other.

"The food's burning," said Frodo, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice, even though his merriment was the result of his breakfast's suffering.

"Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo," said Sam, moving hurriedly to rectify his mistake. He hoped that the master wouldn't be too upset with him if his toast was a little crispier than usual.

His hands shook from nerves as he served Frodo the food his thoughtlessness had damaged. While Frodo had never had a violent temper to speak of, and had certainly never struck Sam, he wasn't the same hobbit he had been before they set out for Rivendell. The Ring had changed him, irrevocably, and Sam was willing to accept whatever changes the Ring had wrought, so long as he got to keep his Mister Frodo and remain by his side where he could best look out for him.

Frodo had paled upon realizing that Sam actually feared his reaction to the slightly burnt food. It was his worst nightmare come to pass, and he immediately sought to relieve Sam's anxieties.

"Sam," he whispered soothingly, capturing one of Sam's hands in between his own. "Relax; it's just me. I'm not going to do anything to you just because the food's a little spoiled. I certainly wouldn't have before our adventure together - and even now I won't hurt you. While I admit that I've changed, so have we all. There's nothing to fear from me: I'm still _your_ Frodo, just as you're _my_ Sam."

Sam sank to his knees next to Frodo's chair at the head of the table and raised his master's hand to his lips, kissing the lily-white skin with the utmost reverence.

"Thank you for saying so, sir," he whispered in reply, while continuing to hold Frodo's hand against his flushed cheek. "I trust you with my life - and more besides. Anything you deemed me worthy of, I would be more than happy to accept."

Frodo shuddered, reading more into Sam's words than Sam himself may have even intended. Frodo knew, without a doubt, that should he lash out at Sam, however unreasonable he might appear to others, Sam would think it his due and submit to such treatment without complaint.

"You do me great honor, Samwise Gamgee," said Frodo, bending over the top of Sam's head and daring to kiss his sandy curls.

"No more than what you deserve or is your right, Mister Frodo," Sam replied. He often felt incensed that the residents of Hobbiton continued to treat Frodo as 'that mad Baggins,' when he had done so much for them all so that they could continue living in peace and freedom. And they never knew - not one of them knew or even cared to ask, and that made Sam angry.

"Dear Sam, always at the ready to come to my defense," said Frodo with a chuckle, having accurately guessed to where Sam's thoughts had strayed. "Come, let's have breakfast."

And so Sam joined the master at his table, eating side by side as though he and Mister Frodo were equals. While Frodo had been insisting that Sam share his meals with him for years - ever since Sam had been a young hobbit-lad, barely in his tweens - the notion still took some getting used to for the simple hobbit, whose first venture past the Shire's borders had been a result of the Quest he had accompanied Frodo on.

The pair ate their breakfast in companionable silence until their peace was disturbed by a knock on the front door. Before Frodo could even think of getting up, Sam had risen and was already in the hallway to welcome the newcomers, Merry and Pippin.

"Good morning, Sam," they greeted him. "And where's our fair cousin this morning - still at breakfast?"

Sam merely nodded, having never been able to get a word in edgewise around the excitable hobbits. He took the opportunity of Frodo's distraction at his cousins' arrival to button up the collar of his shirt so as to avoid the awkward questions that would surely arise should anyone see the finger-shaped bruises around his neck. Mister Frodo might have less use for him than before the Ring entered their lives, but he'd still spare his master whatever trouble he could; he was capable of _that_ much, at least.

He re-entered the kitchen to discover Merry and Pippin helping themselves to his master's breakfast. He frowned upon noticing that Frodo put up little-to-no resistance at their actions, even pushing his plate closer to them. His appetite had been steadily declining since their return to the Shire, despite Sam's best efforts. Frodo had always been slender compared to other hobbits; now he was practically skin and bones. All that was left for Sam to do was continue to serve Frodo in the hopes of tempting him with some tasty treat or other.

Frodo looked up as Sam re-entered the kitchen. His eyes narrowed at seeing Sam's shirt buttoned up, and he knew that Sam was merely trying to protect him again. Many times throughout the Quest, he had cursed himself for letting Sam come along, despite Gandalf's own insistence that the younger hobbit would prove invaluable. Sam was too good to be touched by the evil of the Ring; yet he had willingly put himself in the way of danger, time after time, all for the sake of his precious master. No, Frodo didn't deserve Sam, who would rather suffer himself than to see Frodo suffer.

"Sam," he said, hoping to draw his friend into conversation. More often than not, though, Sam would withdraw, claiming that he had no place next to gentle-hobbits the like of Frodo and his cousins. "We were just planning a picnic for later today. Would you care to join us?"

"Oh, please do," chimed in Merry and Pippin, who both enjoyed Sam's company as much as their older cousin.

"If you really want me along..." said Sam hesitantly, his voice trailing off as he gave Frodo and his cousins the opportunity to reject him. Secretly, though, he wanted nothing more than to go with them; he hoped that if he got Frodo alone, he could get him to share what his dream had been about, besides the obvious: the Ring. Frodo still seemed troubled by his dream, more so than usual, and it was Sam's belief that talking about it would help his master to heal.

"Please, Sam," Frodo implored him.

Sam never had been able to resist those eyes, especially when they were staring pleadingly up at him, and he knew that this time would be no different. What's more, he appreciated Frodo's conscientious effort to include him in what most would consider a family outing. "Alright, I'll come with you," he said at last.

"Hurray!" Pippin cheered, prompting the others, even Sam, to burst into laughter.

Each of the hobbits then set about preparing for the proposed picnic: Merry and Pippin gathered blankets to rest on so that the grass wouldn't prickle their sensitive skin, while Frodo and Sam worked together in the kitchen to make the food they would eat.

Sam watched Frodo carefully: he was still suffering from the occasional tremor, a result of the nightmares he was tormented by on a regular basis. And, if Sam was being honest, his own presence probably wasn't helping matters. Frodo most likely still felt guilty for nearly strangling Sam that morning. Sam didn't blame him, though. He understood that it was the Ring controlling his master's actions, even in sleep. Frodo, however, didn't have the same understanding. Logically, he knew that the Ring would forever exert a certain amount of power over him. That didn't mean he had to accept it. And so he held himself accountable for his actions against Sam, as well as against countless others who he believed he had wronged in some way.

Despite these thoughts running through their minds, both kept silent. Sam, though he wanted nothing more than to comfort his master, didn't see it as his place to speak unless spoken to first. For this same reason he kept quiet about the love he bore for Frodo. It wasn't right for him to declare himself and thereby lose his place, as the Gaffer often warned him about. Frodo, likewise, kept silent because he was fully aware of Sam's position in his household and didn't want to appear to be taking advantage of that fact, or have Sam accused of using his position to seduce the master of Bag End.

"I'm sorry about this morning, Sam," said Frodo at last, speaking haltingly. It wasn't the apology that was hard for him; rather, the reason behind the apology.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief at Frodo taking the initiative. "You were dreaming, sir. You couldn't help yourself."

"But what does that say about me - that I can harm my best friend without even being aware of it?" Frodo swiftly countered.

"The Ring had a powerful effect on you. That effect obviously still lingers. You are not to blame for what _It_ makes you do," Sam reasoned with him.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered. "I don't mean to further burden you. I just... I'm not strong enough to handle this on my own."

"No one expects you to, Frodo," said Sam, his passion making him careless as he forgot to address Frodo with an honorific. Frodo, of course, was not about to point out what Sam would view as a 'mistake,' in the hopes that Sam would continue to address him by his given name rather than the continued deference he showed by his use of 'mister,' sir,' and even 'master.'

"Everyone's been strong enough for me, already," Frodo continued. "First, on the Quest: when Gandalf fought the Balrog to buy the rest of us time to escape; when Merry and Pippin sacrificed themselves to draw the Orcs' attention away from me; and you, my dear Sam, went without food and drink to ensure that I would have plenty."

Sam gaped at him. He hadn't thought that Frodo had been aware of what he was doing. Certainly during the latter half of their journey, Sam hadn't been entirely sure how much of _his_ Frodo remained, or whether Frodo would even care about the trials Sam had undergone to see that his master reached his final destination.

"And now," Frodo went on, "Everyone continues to offer me their support, without a thought for themselves! What about you, Sam, or Merry or Pippin? Who's there for you, to hold you when you cry and tell you that everything is all right?

"Oh, I don't matter none, Mister Frodo," said Sam, waving off Frodo's concern as inconsequential. And, to his mind, it was. His master and those Frodo cared for would always take precedence to Sam's own needs. "And as for your cousins, I'm sure they support each other plenty."

"How can you say that, Sam?" Frodo asked, incredulous at Sam's disregard for his own well-being. "You are the most important of us all. You carried me up Mount Doom on your back! You're the reason our mission succeeded in the first place. Without you, I would have been lost -"

"Have you forgotten that your capture by Orcs was because I left you behind?" asked Sam quietly, interrupting whatever his master had been about to say. "_I'm_ the reason you bear as many emotional scars as you do physical ones."

Frodo shuddered as he was reminded of the torture he had undergone in the tower of Cirith Ungol. The Orcs had been cruel and vicious, harming more than his body, but his mind as well. When Sam had found him, he'd been bound and naked, blood pouring from the many wounds he had sustained. He'd been whipped, but more than that - he'd been violated in the worst possible way. Had it not been for Sam, Frodo would have willingly thrown himself into the fires of Mount Doom, in addition to the Ring.

And ever since, Sam continued to save him: in the morning, when he entered Frodo's bedchamber and threw back the curtains, allowing for the sun to shine through the windowpane, his bright smile would convince Frodo to go on, to continue living; in the evening, when he would see Frodo settled into the most comfortable chair, a fire blazing in the hearth, a cup of tea by his arm and a book in his lap, Sam's care and concern for him reminded Frodo that there was still some good left in the world he had sacrificed so much for. Even Sam's presence in the garden was a comfort to Frodo: as he watched Sam breathe new life into the plants he tended, Frodo was reminded of how Sam breathed new life into him.

Frodo felt hands on his face and realized that he was crying. He looked up to find Sam watching him, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

_That's my Sam_, he thought, _refusing to appear weak when he thinks I need someone to be strong for me._

"I owe you my life, Samwise Gamgee," he whispered, "And should I live to see my eleventy-first birthday, I doubt I will have yet repaid my debt to you."

He took one of Sam's hands, which was pressed against his cheek, and raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckles quite firmly. Apparently, that was all it took for the tears to flow unchecked down Sam's cheeks. Frodo pulled him into his arms, and Sam - for once ignoring propriety - returned the embrace with equal fervor.

Merry and Pippin, unnoticed by either of the other two hobbits, had been watching Frodo and Sam's exchange for several minutes. Quietly, they backed away until they were well out of ear-shot.

"They love each other," Pippin remarked to Merry. "I mean, I always knew that Sam loved Frodo - even a blind man could see _that_ - but this is the first inkling I've had that Frodo returns his feelings."

"I think Frodo's known for quite some time," Merry mused, gently correcting Pippin's assumption in regards to his cousin. "He's just been denying his feelings for both his own sake and Sam's."

"But why?" asked Pippin petulantly.

"Think about it," said Merry, "Throughout Bag End, Sam is known as Frodo's _servant _first, his _friend_ second. What are the implications, then, if Frodo and Sam take up with each other? My guess is that Frodo won't admit the truth to Sam for fear of others thinking that the master was seduced by his servant so as to better his position in society, which is also the exact same reason that Sam won't say anything either. He knows his place is as Frodo's servant, despite whatever Frodo himself or you and I might say to the contrary. That's how he was raised: to see himself as less than those he deems 'gentle-hobbits' - us."

Pippin pursed his lips as he considered all that Merry had said.

"What can we do to help?" he asked at last, wanting Frodo and Sam to be as happy as he and Merry were.

"Nothing, unfortunately," Merry replied. "This is something they have to work through and come to terms with on their own."

Frowning, Pippin nonetheless agreed with Merry's assessment. Reaching for his hand, he twined their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly, before allowing Merry to lead him back towards the kitchen. They entered just as Frodo and Sam were pulling away and discreetly wiping at their eyes.

"Ready to go?" chirped Pippin.

Sam turned to the task of filling a basket with the previously-ignored food, leaving Frodo to answer his cousins.

"Of course, Pip," said Frodo, offering him a wan smile.

"Alright, there, Fro?" asked Merry.

"I'm fine," Frodo replied, his standard answer whenever anyone inquired after his health.

The other three chose to ignore Frodo's obvious lie in favor of enjoying the day together. They set out along the path leading away from Bag End, walking side-by-side at the insistence of Frodo, who didn't want Sam to feel left out or as if he should remain several paces behind Frodo and his cousins as society dictated was proper for hobbits of lower social standing. Sam conceded to Frodo's will, but insisted on carrying the picnic basket, to which Frodo relented, knowing that Sam only wanted to feel that he was taking care of him as was his nature.

The four walked along in quiet contentment, happy just to enjoy the sun shining on their faces. For too long they had known only fear and darkness and shadows; never again would they take a clear sky for granted.

Frodo's strength wasn't what it used to be - the Ring had taken a lot out of him - and he soon had to rest. The spot he picked proved as good as any for their picnic, and Sam spread the blanket before doling out food.

They conversed quietly among themselves, saying nothing of consequence and reveling in that simple fact. For many months, their lives had revolved entirely around the Ring and seeing that it was destroyed; it was a relief now to talk about nothing and everything in the same breath.

Eventually, though, Merry and Pippin drifted off by themselves to smoke. Seizing the opportunity to be alone with Sam, Frodo grabbed the younger hobbit's hand and tugged him along down a nearby path. Sam followed, implicitly trusting in his master to not lead him astray.

Frodo halted in a clearing and turned to face Sam, who was watching him with avid curiosity. "I wanted to talk to you, Sam," he said. "It's about my dreams..."

"What about them, sir?" asked Sam.

"Please, Sam - it's just us. Won't you call me Frodo?" It had been a while since Frodo had aired this particular grievance with Sam - he knew his gardener's opinion on the subject - but he still hoped for success in convincing Sam to call him by his given name without the honorific.

"Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo, but it wouldn't be proper," Sam protested, before immediately averting his gaze from his kindly master and staring fixedly at the ground.

Frodo watched as Sam lowered his eyes, seeming to close in on himself, and placed a hand on his shoulder before slowly shifting to grip his chin and tilt his head upwards. "It's alright, Sam," he whispered. "Whatever you're most comfortable with."

"Thank you for understanding, sir," whispered Sam, smiling shyly at Frodo. When he showed no signs of continuing their previous conversation, Sam cleared his throat before daring to speak: "What did you want to say about your dreams, begging your pardon, master?"

Frodo shook himself before re-focusing his gaze on Sam. "I wanted to tell you what I dream of, Samwise. You've guessed - and accurately, I might add - that my dreams involve _It_, the Ring." He gestured for Sam to take a seat on the ground; once he had done so, Frodo began to pace back and forth in front of him. "In my dream, I'm standing over the fires of Mount Doom; I've just claimed the Ring as mine when Gollum appears. We tussle and I throw him over the edge. I then turn to you."

As Frodo said this, he turned to fully face Sam, and the younger hobbit was taken aback by the haunted look in his friend's eyes - for in this instance, Frodo could be nothing but Sam's friend, and propriety be damned - and the utter pain and misery reflecting back at him.

"What happens next?" asked Sam, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I... throw you to the ground... and... _hurt_ you," Frodo admitted, lowering his gaze in shame.

Although tempted to dismiss his dream-self's pain as inconsequential in the wake of Frodo's own torment, Sam knew that this wasn't the response Frodo wanted, much less needed. And while he sensed that Frodo would more than welcome Sam's censure for his actions, Sam would never be able to forgive himself for lashing out at his master, even should Frodo so order it. So Sam did the only thing he could think of, what came most naturally to him, despite his Gaffer's repeated warnings to never touch his master without his express permission: he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms securely around Frodo, rocking him back and forth and swaying in place.

"It's all right," he whispered over and over again. "_I'm_ alright."

"Are you? Truly?" asked Frodo after several moments. Abruptly pulling away and ripping Sam's shirt collar open - the buttons scattered and flew through the air to lie hidden in the grass - he stared at the bruises ringing Sam's neck, disgust evident in his eyes at what he'd done.

Sam grabbed for Frodo's hands and raised them to his lips, placing a number of feather-light kisses across his open palms. "It's all right," he repeated. "You woke up before any lasting damage could be done."

"And if I hadn't?" Frodo countered, condemnation harshening his tone of voice.

"But you _didn't_," Sam insisted. "It does no good dwelling on 'what if's,' Mister Frodo; best to live in the here-and-now rather than constantly look behind you at the past."

"Sound advice, Sam the Wise," said Frodo with a chuckle, and Sam's heart was gladdened by the sound, which was accompanied by a sparkle in his master's eyes that had been missing since setting out for Rivendell the previous year.

There was a moment where the two eyed each other before Frodo disengaged his hand from Sam's, only to hold it out to him, his eyes questioning what Sam's choice would be. With less hesitation than Sam usually showed when it came to demonstrations of affection, he took the proffered hand in his and swung their joined hands in between their bodies.

"Let's go home, Mister Frodo," he suggested.

"An excellent idea, Sam," Frodo agreed.

So, hand-in-hand, they made their way back along the path to where they had left Merry and Pippin. They discovered that the other two hobbits had not been idle while they were gone. Frodo and Sam broke through the line of trees to find Pippin on top of Merry, trailing kisses down along his neck and back up his face, across his cheeks and forehead, and ending with a simple peck on Merry's nose. Merry smiled up at him, the love light shining in his eyes, before raising his head to briefly connect their lips.

"Love you, Pip," he whispered.

"Love you, too," Pippin replied. Frodo and Sam had never heard him so serious or seen him more sincere.

Sam had frozen in place upon seeing Pippin and Merry in such an intimate position. While two lads loving each other wasn't unheard of in the Shire - or elsewhere, for that matter - it was still rare enough. That was one of Sam's reasons for keeping silent about his own love for Frodo (the other, of course, being that it wouldn't be proper for a servant to proposition his master). But now, seeing Merry and Pippin acting on their love for each other gave Sam hope for himself and Frodo… that is, if Mister Frodo felt the same.

For Frodo's part, he was glad that his cousins had found happiness with each other. No two hobbits deserved each other more than Merry and Pippin did. He snuck a look at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam looked stunned and slightly shocked; Frodo wasn't sure whether that was from seeing two lads kissing or the fact that it was Merry and Pippin, and he found himself wondering what the future had in store for _them_ based on Sam's reaction.

"Maybe we should leave and come back again," he suggested, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially in Sam's ear.

"Right you are, sir," Sam responded brightly, but his thoughts were elsewhere, picturing himself and Frodo in Merry and Pippin's positions.

A safe distance away, Frodo turned back towards where his cousins were, making plenty of noise as he did so. Sam followed his lead, and when they once more broke through the line of trees, they found Merry and Pippin leaning against a fallen log, smoking, and a respectable distance away from each other.

The four exchanged tired smiles and moved to pack up the picnic, all without saying a word. Sam even accepted the help of Merry and Pippin, while he insisted that Frodo rest. As they walked back in the direction of Bag End, Frodo noted how low the sun was in the sky. Apparently they had been out longer than they had thought; it would be time for dinner by the time they returned home. Upon first entering the smial, Sam immediately went to help Frodo remove his overcoat before unpacking the picnic basket while Merry started to fix dinner. Sam made as if to object, but at the look on Frodo's face, he kept silent, merely pitching in and watching as Pippin attempted the simple task of chopping vegetables that Merry had given him. Frodo, meanwhile, hovered in the background, wanting to feel useful, but knowing that Sam would protest his exerting himself.

In this manner, the four hobbits worked together to prepare their evening meal. They took their seats at the table, Frodo tugging on Sam's hand to urge him to sit on his right, and with little resistance, Sam acquiesced. They chatted quietly for some time about Frodo's latest translation of an Elvish text, and how Merry and Pippin were enjoying Crickhollow. When Pippin, the youngest among them, began to yawn, Merry made their excuses and asked which rooms would be theirs for the night. Frodo rose to show them the way - he thought they'd be pleasantly surprised to find that he'd arranged for them to share a room; he couldn't imagine there being any objections on the part of either of his cousins - while Sam started to clear the table and wash the dishes.

"You should tell him how you feel," said Merry, following along behind Frodo down the darkened hallway.

"What?" Frodo turned sharply at his cousin's words, his neck cracking painfully in the process.

"I'm talking about Sam, of course," said Merry. "You should tell him that you love him."

"_I_ love _Sam_?" Frodo chuckled nervously. "That's ridiculous."

"Careful, he might hear you," Pippin cautioned him.

"If he did, I'm sure he'd agree with me whole-heartedly: the idea that we could love each other is fantastic," said Frodo. By now, they had arrived at Merry and Pippin's room. "Here you are," said Frodo, opening the door with a flourish. Inside was a single bed, big enough for two. Merry and Pippin glanced between each other and then looked suspiciously at their cousin. "It's alright," said Frodo. "Sam and I saw you two together this afternoon. I can't speak for Sam, but I, for one, am thrilled for you."

"Thank you, Frodo," said Pippin, moving forward to wrap his arms tightly around his cousin's waist. He clung to Frodo desperately, having suddenly been overcome by a feeling of melancholy. There was a reason he and Merry had sacrificed themselves for Frodo on the Quest: they loved him dearly, and wanted to see him survive and flourish. This was why Pippin wanted to see his cousin happily settled down with Sam, who was Frodo's reason to live.

"Thank you, Frodo," added Merry, moving to join the embrace between his cousins. He could read Pippin's moods better than anyone, and knew that this would be a night spent comforting each other as they reaffirmed that they had, in fact, survived the ordeal of the Quest: they were alive and in one piece. They would reverently undress each other and kiss the scars that their bodies bore, which told the stories of all they had seen and done, before falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms with their limbs entangled.

Frodo found himself close to tears as he held both of his cousins in his arms. He would be forever grateful to Gandalf for insisting that they accompany him on his journey to destroy the One Ring. While he would have protected them, as he would have Sam, if he could, he was nonetheless glad for their presence. He knew that both had suffered equally - each had come to him with tales of their time with the Orcs: Frodo knew of Merry's despair as he had watched Pippin make his break for freedom, seemingly alone, while Pippin had told Frodo of how he had pretended to be the Ring-bearer to convince the greedy Orc leader to take him and Merry away by themselves. They had each acted in _his_ best interests, without a thought for their own needs and wants. Even when volunteering to accompany him, they hadn't known where they were agreeing to go; yet when they finally did learn, nothing would persuade them to desert Frodo.

"No, thank _you_," he whispered, his voice cracking as he fought back tears while continuing to clutch them both close to his chest.

Merry and Pippin chose to ignore his moment of weakness, knowing their cousin wouldn't want attention drawn to the fact that he was close to crying.

"Think about what we've said, Fro," Merry whispered in his ear. "We just want you and Sam to be as happy as we are."

"I know you do, and I promise that I'll give your advice some consideration," Frodo replied.

"That's all we ask," said Pippin, he and Merry waving as Frodo took his leave of them to return to Sam in the kitchen.

Frodo could hear Sam's voice drifting to him from the kitchen; he was singing the same song he had sung in the tower. Frodo's steps faltered as he recalled the darkness he had wished would claim him, and the light Sam had shone with that called him back from the edge of despair. He paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe to observe Sam in his element: he was enthusiastically scrubbing the dirty dishes; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his tanned and muscled arms. Frodo shivered as he imagined being enfolded in those same arms; the strength they contained was enough to break Frodo should Sam so desire...

Shaking his head to rid it of such dismal thoughts, Frodo joined Sam at the sink, picking up a discarded cloth and drying the dishes that Sam handed to him. He was surprised that the other hobbit offered no resistance to his helping out, but then maybe he was feeling as mellow as Frodo himself was. It was a peaceful night, one for throwing away propriety and enjoying the company of one's friends, whether they were servant or master.

_Oh, Sam, if only you knew how much I love you_, Frodo thought as he silently regarded the hobbit who was more than his gardener; he was his best friend, and Frodo held him in as high regard as Sam himself held Frodo.

"Will that be all, sir?" asked Sam, observing his master curiously as he wondered what Frodo was thinking.

"Yes, Sam," Frodo replied tiredly. "You can go to bed now, if you like." He wished that, just once, Sam would address him simply as 'Frodo.' He'd like nothing better than to hear his name pass Sam's lips without being accompanied by an honorific. While he knew that the younger hobbit felt it was his due, both as the master of Bag End and as a hero in the war of the Ring, he didn't ask for the respect that Sam gave him. He wanted nothing more than to return to the simple days in the Shire before the Ring had passed into his possession, when his main concerns had been keeping Merry and Pippin out of trouble and listening to Bilbo tell him and Sam of his adventures.

"Alright, then," said Sam.

"Good night, Sam," Frodo replied, forcing a smile on his face as he watched Sam leave for his own bed in the smial, though he would eventually find his way to Frodo's room - to keep an eye on him should he suffer from bad dreams, Frodo suspected.

Frodo retired to the parlor and picked up a book of Elvish poetry that he was in the middle of reading. However, he couldn't seem to focus on the words in front of him when all his thoughts were of Sam, who had a similar interest in both poetry and in Elves.

"I might as well go to bed," said Frodo, speaking aloud to the empty room.

After banking the fire, Frodo walked slowly down the hallway, pausing outside the door to Sam's room, which was next to his own. How he longed to enter, taking Sam in his arms and claiming him as his own - _just like in your dream_, his guilty conscience reminded him - but Sam would never accept his advances. Or if he did, it would be out of a sense of obligation or duty that he felt he owed his master.

_Better to dream of what might be than to have Sam reject me outright or merely act as he thinks I wish for him to_, Frodo thought dejectedly.

Undressing and slipping on his nightshirt, Frodo crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Ever since being stabbed by the Morgul-blade, Frodo found that he was incapable of staying warm, even on a hot summer day. As he lay curled up in a ball with his arms wrapped around his middle, shivering due to the cold emanating from the wound on his shoulder, he saw a sliver of light appear from a crack in the door and heard Sam quietly creep into the room.

"Sleep well, master," Frodo heard him whisper as he arranged himself on the floor next to Frodo's bed. "Your Sam's here, now."

As Sam's words of comfort washed over him, Frodo felt a tingling sensation that started at his toes and worked its way up his body, warming him from the inside out. He realized, then, that he would always need Sam; he couldn't imagine life without him, and he didn't even want to try.

_As you watch over me, so I do over you, Samwise Gamgee_, Frodo thought in the moments before sleep claimed him. _I love you, now and forever, and will continue to do so for as long as we both shall live._


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam," Frodo called softly from where he was seated in his favorite armchair near the parlor's fireplace.

Several weeks had passed since Merry and Pippin's visit and the four hobbits' impromptu picnic. Since then, Sam had been distracted, becoming almost sloppy in his work as though his thoughts were miles away. Frodo, too, had not had his mind on the Elvish translations he had tasked himself with, for while picnicking with his cousins, he and Sam had chanced upon the other two hobbits kissing. The thought of himself and Sam in the position of his cousins had rarely left Frodo since. However, the master of Bag End was at a loss as to what could be troubling his gardener and best friend; hence, this evening's intervention.

"Yes, sir?" replied Sam after a moment's pause as he shook his head, as if to clear it of some errant thought.

"You haven't been yourself lately, and I'd like to know why - though only if you'd care to share. You know I'd never order you to do anything you didn't want to do yourself," said Frodo, who noted that the ever-present circles under Sam's eyes had become more noticeably as of late, as though he weren't getting enough sleep. While Frodo was content to feign ignorance as to where Sam spent his nights - in Frodo's own room, guarding his sleep from the nightly terrors that plagued him - he would have to put his foot down if Sam's concern for him was affecting his own health.

Despite his proximity to the blaze in the hearth, Sam could feel his face pale at Frodo's pronouncement: that he'd been watching Sam and noticed that his mind hadn't been on his work.

_Am I going to get the sack?_ Sam wondered. He'd worked at Bag End - first, for Bilbo; and then, following Bilbo's mysterious disappearance, solely for Frodo - since he'd been a tween, no more than a hobbit-lad. Bag End, its garden, and Frodo had been Sam's life for as long as he could remember.

"You aren't fired, Sam," said Frodo, and it was only then that Sam realized he had spoken his fears aloud.

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Sam, ducking his head respectfully as he remained on his knees in front of the fireplace. "But if I'm not fired, then what's this about?"

"I'm worried about you, Sam," said Frodo, slightly exasperated at Sam's obvious belief that he didn't rate the master of Bag End's concern. "I care for you, very much, and I'd like to know if there's anything I can do to help with whatever's obviously been troubling you."

Sam squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he fought back tears, knowing that he would have to lie, since Mister Frodo would never believe that a simple gardener such as Sam was could ever love such a knowledgeable gentle-hobbit as himself. He'd known for a while - though he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in time - that he cared for Frodo in a way that was unbefitting of a mere servant. But he'd never let himself hope for the future - his and Mister Frodo's, that is - not until he had come across Merry and Pippin kissing and rolling around in the grass as a hobbit-lad was wont to do with a hobbit-lass. The worst of it all was that Frodo had been right there beside him, and ever since, he hadn't been able to imagine anyone but himself and Mister Frodo in Merry and Pippin's places. The thought tormented him night and day, and made him ache in places that weren't proper to mention in polite society. He _wanted_ Mister Frodo, desperately, but knew that there was no chance for him, should the master even prefer lads to lasses.

Frodo was alarmed as he watched Sam tense seemingly every muscle within his body, as though he were waging some internal battle within himself, one that he was sorely losing by all appearances.

"Please, Sam - talk to me. You've never kept secrets from me before; don't start now," Frodo pleaded with him.

Sam rapidly shook his head back and forth. "No, I can't - I-I _won't_," he whispered fiercely.

Frodo was taken aback, not by Sam's denial - he was perfectly within his rights as a free hobbit to refuse to answer any of Frodo's questions - but by the vehemence with which he spoke. "Sam?" he asked cautiously. The younger hobbit reminded Frodo of himself when the Ring had been in his possession, which scared him.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Sam, seeming to come back to himself. "But nothing's been bothering me; I'm perfectly fine."

"Now why don't I believe that?" said Frodo. "Tell me the truth, Sam - what has been haunting you that would cause you to forgo sleep and meals as though we were still on the Quest?"

Sam's breath came in harsh, short pants; he could feel his resolve weakening. He had never been able to disobey _any_ order, whether direct or otherwise, from his master - and now would be no different, he was sure. By this time, Frodo had knelt down on the floor in front of Sam so that they were face-to-face and looking directly in each other's eyes. Sam's were still squeezed tightly shut, so he was unprepared to find Frodo's blue orbs locked on his when he dared to look at his master. He gasped at their close proximity, his lips parting as he looked deep into Frodo's eyes and read the truth: that he was cared for and cherished, even loved.

"Talk to me," repeated Frodo, his voice no more than a whisper. "_Please_."

"I-I'm afraid," Sam stammered.

"And what are you afraid of?" asked Frodo.

"I'm scared that you'll hate me and send me away if I tell you the truth," Sam admitted, lowering his eyes in shame at doubting his master.

"Have I ever given you just cause to fear me, Sam?" Frodo inquired, "With the exception of when I had the Ring, of course."

"No, sir," Sam replied. "And what you said and did under the Ring's influence wasn't your fault; you shouldn't blame yourself - _I_ certainly don't."

"Then trust me when I say that you can tell me anything and I won't be angry - at least, not with you. Now, if someone's hurt you, that's different..." Frodo's voice trailed away as Sam's hearty chuckles reached his ears, which had been his intent all along: to make Sam laugh.

"No, sir, nobody's hurt me - 'cept myself, that is," he added, almost as an aside.

"What have you done?" asked Frodo inquisitively.

"I've fallen in love," Sam revealed, heaving a sigh of relief at having told at least part of the truth, while grateful that his master had yet to ask who the lucky hobbit was. Maybe there was still hope of salvaging this situation -

"With whom?" Frodo wanted to know.

"It's not entirely proper, if you get my meaning, sir," Sam whispered, once more reverting to staring at the ground rather than his master's lovely face.

"You love a lad, then," Frodo surmised.

"Yes," Sam nodded his agreement, waiting for Frodo to go back on his word and throw him out of Bag End, of the Shire, of Middle-earth, even.

"Sam, look at me," Frodo urged him, cupping Sam's chin in his hand and tilting his face upwards. "There's nothing shameful about loving someone, whether they're a lad or a lass. Now, who's the lucky lad you're so taken with?"

Sam stared hard at Frodo, willing for him to read his mind so that he wouldn't have to say the words aloud. There was nothing for it, though; Samwise the Brave, Frodo had called him on the Quest. Brave he would have to be now, to admit his feelings to his master.

"It's you, sir," Sam whispered at last. "I love _you_, Mister Frodo."

"Me?" Frodo was stunned. Never had he imagined his dreams coming to fruition like this. He thought he would live and die a bachelor, with Sam by his side, of course, but as a friend - nothing more.

Upon his admission, Sam had once more squeezed his eyes tightly shut, waiting for the Ring-crazed Frodo he still remembered so very well to attack, striking him where he knelt on the floor and driving him away that very night. He flinched violently at feeling a hand caress his cheek, though the touch brought pleasure rather than pain. He relaxed, albeit infinitesimally, and waited for his master's next instructions.

"Look at me, Sam - please," Frodo begged of him. Sam obeyed, opening his eyes to gaze upon Frodo's dear face, his eyes as blue as the sky on a summer's day or a crystal-clear lake, though now they were currently shining with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, sir," exclaimed Sam, alarmed at his master's reaction. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm sorry if you're disgusted by me and my unnatural feelings -"

At this, Frodo gave a start. "Disgusted by _you_, my dear Sam? Oh, no; if anything, I'm relieved." When Sam continued to look at him in confusion, Frodo spoke plainly: "I love you, too, Sam."

Sam gave a low gasp. "Truly, sir?" he whispered.

Frodo nodded. "Yes, I am yours, heart and soul - and have been for quite some time. But why didn't you say anything before?"

"It wasn't my place," said Sam, as if this should have been obvious to a hobbit of Frodo's standing. "I'm just your servant. And while it always felt right - my belonging to you, I mean - I never thought that you could belong to me, too."

"You've always been more than 'just' a servant to me, Samwise Gamgee," said Frodo with feeling. "You're my friend - my _best_ friend - and while I may not have shown that as often as I should, I thought you knew."

"I hoped, sir," said Sam, shyly peering up at Frodo through his lashes.

Frodo laughed, though not unkindly, at Sam's chosen endearment. "My dear Sam," he said, "Even after admitting that you love me, why do you persist in addressing me as 'sir'? I've often longed to hear you call me just 'Frodo.' Won't you do that, Sam? For me, please, if only for tonight or when we're alone together?"

Although it went against everything that Sam had been taught, as well as his natural instincts, which advised him that Frodo was his better in every sense of the word and should thus be shown the proper respect, he gave in to Frodo's request.

"As you wish, me-dear," he replied.

Frodo beamed at him, and would have clapped his hands in delight had he not been enfolding Sam's hands within his own.

"Thank you, Sam," he whispered.

Still clutching Sam's hands in his, Frodo leaned forward until there was little more than a hair's breadth separating the two; their breath puffed softly against each other's skin. His eyes looked questioningly at Sam, as though asking if what he was about to do was alright. When Sam offered no objections - if anything, Frodo swore that he felt Sam's heart rate increase, beating rapidly in his chest; _his_ certainly did at his own audacity - Frodo tilted his head to the side and brushed their lips together ever-so gently.

Sam felt his eyes flutter closed at feeling Frodo kiss him. The reality was much better than any of the fantasies he had engaged in over the years. Frodo's lips were soft and velvety against his own, which were slightly chapped. That didn't seem to deter Frodo, however, whose own lips continued to move determinedly against Sam's, his tongue soon requesting entrance. Sam parted his lips to accept Frodo, new sensations immediately assaulting him. If this was the response he got for forgoing the honorific before Frodo's name, then he should have done so long before this.

"Frodo - oh, Frodo," he gasped, wrenching away to draw a necessary breath. Frodo followed him, attaching his lips to Sam's neck before drifting steadily lower until his progress was halted by Sam's own shirt collar.

"May I?" he asked, his hands hovering over the material as he waited for permission to proceed. After all, if Sam didn't want this, then he would stop; he wasn't about to take advantage of his friend out of some misguided sense of obligation.

"Be my guest," Sam replied, hardly thinking of what Frodo would find underneath.

Frodo wasted no time in undoing the uppermost buttons of Sam's shirt. He paused as Sam's neck was exposed, and he saw the faded bruising from when he had attempted to strangle Sam in the aftermath of one of his many horrific dreams.

Having felt his master's - lover's? - movements still upon seeing his bare skin, Sam's hands came up to cover Frodo's. "It's all right," he whispered, just as he had the morning of the event itself. "_I'm_ alright."

"I know you are, Sam," Frodo replied. "But I still feel guilty."

"Do you think we can manage to forget, for just this night?" Sam asked of him. "Do what you want to me; I surrender myself to you, completely."

Frodo recognized what Sam was doing by giving up control: he was allowing for Frodo to set the pace and do whatever was most comfortable for him. Sam knew full well the brutality he had suffered from in the tower of Cirith Ungol, and he was willing to wait for Frodo, to go as fast or as slow as he needed.

"Still looking out for me, eh, my Sam?" asked Frodo with a chuckle.

"Always," Sam replied, gazing steadily at the hobbit who was both his master and lover; it was now impossible to separate one from the other.

Frodo carefully lowered Sam onto his back in front of the fire. "I promise not to hurt you," he whispered as he pressed his lips to Sam's forehead in reassurance.

"I trust you," was all Sam said, his eyes shining in the firelight but also with his unconditional love for Frodo.

His words were all the encouragement that Frodo needed as he proceeded to pepper kisses all over Sam's face: his cheeks, nose, chin, even his ears, and, of course, his lips... nothing remained untouched by Frodo. He then began to trail kisses along Sam's neck, sucking insistently at his pulse point and enjoying the sound of Sam's breathless gasps and moans as he arched off the ground towards Frodo's touch. Frodo next began to unbutton Sam's shirt further, kissing a path down Sam's chest as more and more skin was exposed to his sight. He paid particular attention to Sam's nipples, his tongue darting out to tease at the already-hardened nubs. Sam gave a startled yelp that sent a jolt of fear racing down Frodo's spine; he thought that he had hurt Sam, but the other hobbit's hands encouraged him to continue with his exploration.

Frodo pulled Sam's shirt completely out of the waistband of his breeches and urged him to sit up so that he could fully remove it. Once Frodo had done so, Sam held his face between his two sturdy hands and connected their lips for a brief but intensely passionate kiss. He knew where the evening was headed, and he was giving Frodo his tacit permission to do with him as he wished; Sam would offer no objections to however much or little Frodo chose to do or engage in.

"Are you sure?" asked Frodo, his voice hoarse with anticipation and nerves.

"Yes, me-dear," said Sam, tenderly kissing Frodo once again. "I love you, and I want to give of myself to you. You're the only one I've ever wanted to have this part of me."

"You mean, you've never..." Frodo trailed off, unsure if he wanted an answer to his question or not.

"No, I was saving myself for someone special," Sam replied, smiling teasingly up at him.

Frodo took Sam's veiled reference to himself in his stride. He crushed his lips against Sam's, pushing him down to lie on his back again while cradling Sam's head in his hands so that he wouldn't crack it on the hard floor. Sam's own hands reached for Frodo, seeking to return the pleasurable favors his master had already gifted him with. Finding Frodo's braces, Sam drew them down off Frodo's shoulders before his hands fumbled to unbutton his shirt. Frodo ceased his exploration of Sam's body, his hands having been running up and down Sam's sides, to help. His hands closed over Sam's and guided his movements. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, Sam pulled the thin material out of Frodo's breeches and pushed it down over his shoulders. Now free of the restrictive clothing, Frodo lowered himself to lie on top of Sam; both gasped at the first feeling of bare skin pressed against bare skin, and at the feeling of their equally hard members brushing against each other through their breeches.

"Sam," Frodo cried, briefly burying his head in the hollow of Sam's neck. He felt Sam's arms move to wrap around him and lightly stroke his back.

"There, there, Frodo-love," he whispered in his ear. "We don't have to go any farther if you don't want to."

"But I do," Frodo protested. "I just never knew that my body could feel so _good_. I've always been ashamed of what was done to me; I thought that it was somehow my fault."

"Hush, now," Sam whispered fiercely, tightening his arms around Frodo. "Don't talk like that."

"Will you kiss me, Sam?" asked Frodo, raising his head slightly to look in Sam's eyes. "Make the hurt go away."

"Of course, me-dear," Sam replied, immediately pressing his lips to Frodo's temple. He proceeded to rain kisses down across Frodo's face and even tenderly planted his lips atop Frodo's closed eyelids, before turning his attention to the pale expanse of skin that was his master's neck. He nipped gently at Frodo's pulse point, drawing a delighted gasp and barely-perceptible shiver from the hobbit below him. He immediately soothed the hurt, his tongue darting out to lap at the mark his teeth had left behind. Sam then began to trail kisses down and over the rest of Frodo's body, pausing at the scar on his shoulder from the Morgul-blade, which was always a lower temperature than the rest of his body but which warmed up at Sam's touch, and paying special attention to the whip-weal that the orc had inflicted on him in the tower, which ran the length of his ribs down to his hip. He felt tears forming in his eyes at the physical evidence his master bore to remind him that Sam, his supposedly faithful servant, had left him behind for dead, to be whipped and tormented by the orcs' for no other reason than that they could.

Frodo's hands in Sam's curls dragged the younger hobbit upwards so that their faces were level. Frodo had felt Sam give pause at seeing the whip-weal, a cruel reminder of his abandonment, and he sought to alleviate Sam's guilt, if not with words, then through actions. He kissed Sam's lips, pouring all the love he felt for the other into that one kiss. He knew that Sam still doubted his worth; he himself doubted his hold on Sam, and often wondered why the younger hobbit continued to return every morning to tend both to Bag End's garden and to Frodo. What was so special about _him_ that would inspire Sam's unwavering devotion? Sam seemed to sense what Frodo was trying to say without words, for when he pulled away from the kiss, there was a small smile playing across his face that actually reached his eyes. Similarly to Frodo upon their return, Sam's eyes had been dulled by the horrors he had seen, a fact that both he and Frodo ignored and tried to hide from one another. There would be no more of _that_, though, not now that they had each other.

Sam's lips now returned to Frodo's body, lavishing him with the attention he so richly deserved and had gone without for so long. Sam trailed kisses down along the planes of Frodo's chest, his breath and light touch tickling Frodo's sensitive skin. He paused above the waistband of Frodo's breeches, his tongue delving into Frodo's bellybutton and causing the hobbit to thrash about at the unexpected intrusion. Sam murmured an apology, his voice vibrating against Frodo's skin.

"Keep going, Sam... _please_," Frodo begged him.

Hesitantly, Sam fumbled with the laces to Frodo's breeches, his fingers trembling and refusing to obey the simplest order. Yet Sam gained more confidence from the fact that Frodo didn't push him away. Rather, he raised his hips to help Sam in sliding the breeches down and off his legs, finally exposing himself to Sam's gaze.

His master was beautiful, Sam decided. Although the Quest had taken its toll on Frodo's body, leaving him with the appearance of a walking corpse, little more than skin and bones, Sam saw none of this. Instead, he saw a hobbit that had been to Hell and back, and survived, proving that good would always conquer over evil, though only after much hardship and heartache. Frodo's eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on his face, until Sam's hand drifted lower to tentatively grasp Frodo's hardened member. His eyes shot open, lips parting in a soundless gasp, surprised at Sam's boldness. Sam, for his part, had frozen in place the moment Frodo's eyes had opened, and he found himself afraid of having displeased his master. But all Frodo did was smile reassuringly at him. His arms, which had been lying immobile at his side, came up to wrap around Sam's neck, drawing him down across Frodo's chest. They kissed, taking their time to explore each other's mouths, and Sam found his courage bolstered by Frodo's response, which had been Frodo's intent all along. He had no desire for Sam to stop; he wanted nothing more than to see this through to the end.

Sam arranged himself between Frodo's legs, his hand once more reaching out to grasp Frodo's hardened member. He squeezed experimentally, his fingers lightly tracing the foreskin. Frodo arched his back and rocked his hips up towards Sam's hand, wordlessly spurring Sam on to continue with his ministrations. Having stroked Frodo into a frantic frenzy, leaving him on the edge of ecstasy, Sam next lowered his head to envelop Frodo in his mouth, kissing first the tip before swallowing him whole. Frodo involuntarily bucked his hips upwards at feeling Sam's delightful heat surround him.

"Oh, Sam..." he moaned, his hands reaching out to tangle in the other hobbit's curls before tracking a path down to Sam's back. He suddenly clutched at Sam's shoulders, his fingernails digging into Sam's bare skin as he rode out his climax and spurted his seed into Sam's waiting mouth. Sam, meanwhile, swallowed every drop before slowly withdrawing his mouth from around Frodo's softening member and raising his head to meet Frodo's piercing gaze, his blue eyes seeming to stare directly into Sam's soul, almost as though he were looking _through_ him rather than _at_ him.

"Was that alright, Mister Frodo?" he asked worriedly, forgetting, for the moment, that his master had given him express permission to address him by his given name without the honorific.

"Most definitely, _Mister_ Samwise," replied Frodo, patting the spot of floor at his side in an invitation for Sam to join him.

Sam blushed, having realized his mistake, before crawling forward on his hands and knees until he was next to Frodo, carefully lying beside his master though not putting his arms around him, still unsure of what boundaries now existed between them and how far he could go before Frodo decided that he'd had enough.

"You can touch me, you know, Sam," Frodo encouraged him. "I don't bite."

Sam chuckled nervously before following Frodo's suggestion and slipping an arm around his master's waist, bringing them both _much_ closer together. Frodo curled into Sam's side, resting his head in the crook of the much larger hobbit's neck. Compared to Frodo, Sam could cover his master's body entirely. He had even done so on occasion during the Quest, in an effort to protect and shield Frodo from harm, whether real or imagined. Frodo had never protested, rather enjoying the feeling of having Sam, who he perceived as being out of bounds, pressed so close against him. He sighed contentedly, wriggling in delight at the warmth emanating from Sam and subsequently enveloping him, and snuggled closer to his newfound lover.

"You know," said Frodo after many minutes of quiet contemplation as both enjoyed the roaring blaze in the hearth. "You're still wearing far too many clothes compared to me."

"Why, so I am!" exclaimed Sam, having caught on to Frodo's playful mood and willing to indulge him. "It wouldn't do for the servant to surpass his master in that regard, now, would it?"

"No, I dare say not," Frodo agreed. "Although, considering our current positions and what we've just done, I'd hardly refer to us as master and servant in this situation. You do know that I've always thought of you as more than just my servant, don't you? Please say that you do."

"Aye, I know," said Sam. "For a long time, now, you've been more than just my master, too. But it gives me a feeling of security to know that I belong to you - that you own me, in a sense, and that I'm yours in whatever capacity you may require. And before you ask -" he said, holding up a hand to forestall any outburst on the part of Frodo, "- No, my loving you isn't out of some sense of obligation or duty to you as a servant may feel he owes his master. I love you because I've seen you at your best and at your worst, and through it all, you remained _my_ Frodo, the one I lost my heart to when I was just a lad, and who never treated me as filth just because I wasn't a gentle-hobbit like yourself. You were patient while teaching me my letters, and you fought for my right to learn when the Gaffer made such a fuss and even beat me for it. There's a-a _goodness_ about you, Frodo, that makes me feel special when we're together. Is it any wonder, then, that I fell in love with you?"

At the conclusion of Sam's heartfelt speech, Frodo wasted no time in clutching him tightly to his chest - almost desperate-like, Sam later thought to himself - and giving in to the urge to weep. Sam, though startled, instantly began to soothe his distraught lover, stroking his hair and rubbing his bare back, conveniently choosing to ignore - at least, for the moment - Frodo's state of nakedness.

"There, there, me-dear," he whispered, close to tears himself at seeing Frodo's distress.

With great effort, Frodo managed to rein in his emotions until he was only sniffling. "I'm sorry," he murmured, hiccoughing slightly. "But what you said - Sam, that's beautiful... _you're_ beautiful -" He reached out a hand to cup Sam's cheek. Sam responded by pinning his hand in place and turning his own head slightly to kiss Frodo's palm.

"Thank you for saying so," he said quietly, fearful of disturbing the peace that had settled over them following their declarations, like a mantle or a warm woolen blanket on a cold winter's night. "You're beautiful, too, though," he went on. "I know you think differently because of your scars and general health - not that you've ever cared what others think of either your outward appearance or your personal life - but you're wrong... begging your pardon, sir. While your scars may not define you or make you who you are, they still tell a story - and it's _that story_ that's beautiful."

"And what does such a story say that makes me so very beautiful?" Frodo inquired, curious as to what Sam's reply would be.

"Simply this: that you're a flawed individual, but you nonetheless persevered against seemingly insurmountable odds. And it's your imperfections that make you perfect to me and make me love you all the more for them," said Sam, holding Frodo's gaze and refusing to look away, even though he quailed at the thought of having insulted his master - and to his face, no less!

Frodo searched for Sam's hand. When he found it, he brought it to his lips and gently kissed the knuckles, almost as if he were soothing away some phantom hurt leftover from their Quest. "Thank you," he whispered, eyes shining with gratitude at Sam's brutal honesty. He didn't want to be hailed as a hero, least of all by Sam, so he was glad to hear that Sam didn't think of him in that way. To Sam, Frodo was his master, first and foremost, and now his lover. That gave Frodo a feeling of security, just as belonging to him made Sam feel safe.

"You know, I haven't been entirely honest with you," Frodo continued. "About my dreams, I mean," he hastened to add at seeing the ill-disguised look of panic on Sam's face.

"Mister Frodo, you don't have to -" Sam started to say.

"But I _want_ to - before we go any further," Frodo insisted. "In my dreams, I don't just hurt you without reason; my intent is to rape you. And you, my dear Sam, just stand there and take my abuse. I'm stripping you of your clothes, and you're still trying to talk me out of this despicable act. Even as I choke the life out of you, you use your last breath to beg me to reconsider."

Frodo broke down in tears again, his sobs only intensifying as Sam wrapped his arms around his waist, effectively pinning Frodo to Sam's chest. "I don't deserve you, Sam," Frodo managed to choke out. "You could do so much better than a broken, decrepit hobbit like me."

Sam openly scoffed. "If there's someone better out there, I don't want them. I only want _you_, Frodo-love. I'm not any good with words, but that's the way I feel. You've been my whole life for so long that I don't know what I'd do if you left or turned me away."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo sighed as he succumbed to Sam's embrace. "That will never happen. I could no sooner turn you away than I could stop breathing. And as for my leaving, I have no intention of going where you can't follow."

The hobbits once more lapsed into silence, before Frodo leaned over to whisper in Sam's ear, "You're still wearing too many clothes."

Sam smiled tenderly down at Frodo in his arms, and bending his head, Sam pressed his lips to Frodo's brow. "What would you suggest I do, _master_?" he murmured in reply.

Frodo's breath caught in his throat and he found himself stifling a moan as his previously softened member revived with a twitch. He could get used to Sam calling him 'master' as long as it was in _this_ particular context. "I could help... remove those for you," Frodo offered, snaking out a hand and trailing it slowly down Sam's abdomen, pausing to play with the fine hair covering his chest, and only stopping as he reached the waistband of Sam's breeches. Sam, of course, would have the final say as to how far this encounter went.

As if he could sense Frodo's hesitation to continue, Sam's hand latched onto Frodo's wrist and brought him into contact with the prominent bulge in his breeches. "I'd be honored," Sam whispered huskily. "Please, sir," he begged when Frodo's hand continued to hover without doing anything to relieve the ache in his groin.

"Oh, Sam, you don't know what it does to my body to hear you call me _that_," Frodo groaned as he gave in to temptation and began to stroke Sam through the material of his breeches.

"I might have an idea," Sam gasped as he glanced down at Frodo's rapidly hardening member while feeling his own body start to respond to Frodo's ministrations.

No longer able to bear the separation between his skin and Sam's, Frodo quickly moved to unlace Sam's breeches. Sam, ever the dutiful servant, was accommodating of his master's need, and helpfully raised his hips to assist Frodo in lowering his breeches. Once they had joined the rest of their clothes scattered about the room, all Frodo could do was stop and stare. If Sam had thought that Frodo was beautiful, that was nothing compared to the way Frodo felt while looking at his highly-aroused lover. Of course, he could have been a little biased. Sam, suddenly overcome with shyness and a feeling of insecurity, attempted to cover himself. A gesture from Frodo was enough to stop him, though.

"No, Sam - don't," he whispered, bending over Sam's body to kiss his full lips. "You're beautiful."

"I'm nothing compared to you, Frodo," Sam protested.

"I'll be the judge of that," Frodo replied with a smile, once more kissing Sam on the lips before proceeding to worship Sam's body as Sam had worshipped his. When he had nestled himself between Sam's legs, he repeated Sam's treatment of him by taking Sam fully in his mouth. The younger hobbit bucked wildly under Frodo's skillful ministrations; his hands were woven tightly in Frodo's ebony curls. Although Frodo had initially feared hurting Sam - like in his dream - Sam's obvious delight proved to Frodo that he must be doing something right.

"_Master_," Sam cried as his seed spurted into Frodo's open mouth upon his release.

Finished with licking his lips in what would be considered a lewd manner, Frodo crawled up along the length of Sam's body to whisper in his ear: "I want to come inside you, Samwise Gamgee."

Sam nodded eagerly. He'd suspected when Frodo first kissed him that this would happen, and he was ready. Due to his general understanding regarding the mechanics of their coupling, he knew that the initial penetration would hurt, but he loved Frodo, both as his master and as his friend, and he wanted this more than anything, whatever the cost, whatever the pain.

"Yes, please," he whimpered, his hands moving to clutch Frodo's arse and thus press their erections closer together. Frodo growled against Sam's neck at the contact, and Sam nipped at the tip of Frodo's ear in response. After playfully tussling for a few moments, Sam pulled away long enough to ask, "How do you want me?"

"On your back," Frodo replied instantly. "I want to be able to see your eyes... I want to know if I'm hurting you at all."

"Alright," said Sam agreeably. "But, just so you know, I trust you to take care of me."

"I know you do, Sam," said Frodo, bending down to connect their lips. "And I will never betray that trust, not if I can help it."

"Frodo," said Sam, moments before Frodo lowered his hand to Sam's entrance to prepare him to accept Frodo's length. "I don't want to be the one to remind you of a bad experience, and I know that _you_ were the one it was done to, but if at any time you feel uncomfortable, I won't blame you if you pull out and don't want to go on. It'll be alright."

"I -" Frodo was caught off guard by Sam's reassurance, though nonetheless grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, Sam. I'll try to be gentle, but you, in turn, must let me know if _you _are at all uncomfortable."

"I promise, Mister Frodo," said Sam sincerely, recalling what his previous usage of an honorific had resulted in.

Frodo tentatively circled Sam's puckered opening, lightly tracing the outer rim before slipping a single finger inside up to the first knuckle. Sam gasped at the intrusion, but quickly relaxed enough for Frodo to slide his finger the rest of the way in. He continued to stretch Sam for several minutes before he dared to add another finger and then a third. By then, both of their arousals were evident and neither could wait any longer to be joined in this most intimate of acts.

"Now, Mister Frodo - _please_," Sam urged him.

Smiling roguishly down at his former gardener, now forever to be his lover, Frodo gently brushed their lips together while aligning himself with Sam's entrance. He pushed just the tip of his shaft inside Sam's hole, taking into consideration that this was Sam's first time and wanting to make it as enjoyable an experience for him as possible. Sam's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, while his breath came in short erratic gasps as he sought to control his panic and grow accustomed to the feeling of having Frodo inside him, all with the knowledge that this was just the beginning and that there was more to come.

"I'm alright, Mister Frodo; please, go on," he said a moment later.

Obeying Sam's instructions, Frodo proceeded to push more of himself inside, once again pausing in order to allow Sam to adjust. By now, he was fully sheathed within Sam. As one, they held their breath; and then, Frodo began to move, thrusting steadily in-and-out and rocking their bodies back-and-forth, albeit slowly at first. As he increased his pace, though, they eventually found a comfortable rhythm, one that Sam readily adjusted to, and both were gasping in pleasure as they neared their climax. Neither had their hands been idle during this time: Sam's were trailing all over Frodo's body, wherever he could reach, while Frodo's hands alternated between returning the favor and stroking Sam's own shaft to bring him the pleasure that he had already brought to Frodo. Frodo's legs were splayed on either side of Sam's hips, while Sam had his legs locked around the small of Frodo's back, encouraging his master to plunge as deep within as he could manage. Although both would surely be sore come morning, neither would have traded their positions for the whole of the Shire - or Middle-earth, even.

"Master, I'm about to -" Sam started to say.

"I know; me too," Frodo replied tersely, thrusting sharply into Sam at hearing himself referred to as 'master.'

A few thrusts later found Frodo releasing his seed within Sam, while Sam's spread between their two bodies, coating Frodo's hand, which was still wrapped around Sam's shaft, and Sam's own rotund belly. Frodo collapsed on top of Sam; as such, he could feel Sam's heart beating rapidly within the confines of his chest, directly beneath Frodo's own ear, and the way his body rose and fell, not without some effort, as he sought to recover from his orgasm. Frodo had not remained unaffected by their activities, either: his own breath came in short gasps from the thrill of what they had just done, and he was positive that his legs would buckle should he attempt to stand without assistance. Frodo realized, then, that he was still sheathed within Sam. He rolled to one side, carefully withdrawing his shaft, and snuggled close to Sam, the other hobbit's arms instinctually coming to wrap around his back.

"Thank you for giving yourself to me," he whispered.

"You already had my heart," Sam replied. "I figured you should have my body, too."

As Frodo felt sleep start to steal over him, he fought his body's need for rest, not wanting to fall asleep in front of the fire with Sam. He wanted to treat Sam like a prince and take the younger hobbit to a proper bed, one where they could rest comfortably side-by-side throughout the entire night. After all, Sam was most precious to him and Frodo felt that it was about time he shared the master of Bag End's bedroom in an official capacity, rather than sneaking in at night to guard Frodo's sleep as he had been wont to do before then.

"Come, Sam," he whispered softly, tugging insistently on Sam's hand. "Let's go to bed." When Sam looked as if he might start reaching for their clothes, Frodo halted his movements. "Leave those; we can deal with everything in the morning."

"You know best, Frodo," Sam remarked as he dropped the breeches he'd been holding out to his master and rose to stand by Frodo's side.

The hobbits had to briefly pause to bank the fire, but then Frodo was leading Sam down the hallway in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Sam's to once more stand empty. Although Sam ordinarily would have protested, wondering what the neighbors might think of him sharing his master's bedroom, he realized that he was past caring. All that mattered now was what he and Frodo wanted. After all, hadn't they given enough blood, sweat, and tears to ensure that the Shire remained free from the likes of Sauron, not to mention Saruman?

Frodo stopped at the door to his room. "There's still time to turn back, Sam," he cautioned him.

"I'm staying right here," Sam swiftly countered. "I once made a promise to never leave you, and I intend to stick with that promise to the end."

Pushing open the door without another moment's hesitation, Frodo led the way inside, turning to watch as Sam - still in nothing but his skin, as Frodo himself was - entered warily. Rare had been the occasion that called for Sam's presence in the master's bedroom, and he felt that now, quite strongly. Still, Frodo needed - no, _wanted_ - him, and Sam didn't plan to disappoint either himself or Frodo, as, truth be told, he wanted to be with Frodo as much as the older hobbit claimed he wanted to be with Sam. Frodo held his hand out to Sam, who went willingly, wrapping his strong muscled arms around his master - just as Frodo had imagined once upon a time - and pressing their bodies close together, bare skin against bare skin.

"Do you want me to turn down the covers, sir?" ask Sam, leaving Frodo to guess at whether his tone was in earnest or if he was teasing.

"Please," Frodo replied, stepping back and watching as Sam efficiently pulled back the coverlet before gesturing for Frodo to climb between the sheets and nestle his head on the pillow. Once Frodo had done so, he patted the mattress next to him. "Won't you join me, Sam?" he queried. When it looked as though Sam might still decline Frodo's offer, Frodo turned the full force of his eyes on Sam, who had never been able to resist the pull of his master's intense gaze. Frodo saw Sam's shoulder drop before he crawled onto the bed and took his place next to Frodo, pulling the covers up over their naked bodies as he did so.

"Is this alright?" asked Sam.

"More than alright, dear Sam," said Frodo. "And now you don't have to sneak in during the night anymore; you're right where you belong." He felt Sam tense in his arms.

"You knew about that?" he asked in alarm.

"Yes, and I loved that you valued me to such an extent that you would give up sleep to guard mine," Frodo replied, leaning over to kiss Sam's cheek in reassurance.

"No sacrifice is too great for you, Frodo-love," said Sam, turning on his side to more fully face his master.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered, straining his neck to kiss Sam on his lips.

Sam smiled gently at him for a moment before his expression became almost stern, though his eyes couldn't help but soften when gazing at his master. "Hush, now," he ordered. "Go to sleep. Your Sam's here."

"And you'll never leave?" asked Frodo.

"Never, me-dear," whispered Sam fiercely, his hold on Frodo tightening. "I won't leave unless you order me away."

"As if I ever could," Frodo scoffed while snuggling securely against Sam's well-toned body, which smelled earthy and something that was indefinably _Sam_, and which was hardened by the years he had spent working in Bag End's garden. Perhaps tomorrow he would join Sam in weeding and planting in an attempt to improve his own body, which had remained weak and sickly since his journey to Mordor and back. And maybe he would even teach Sam to swim.

"Sleep well, master," whispered Sam, having sensed that Frodo's attention was waning as he grew more and more drowsy.

Sam began to hum in Frodo's ear, at the same time stroking his curls in an effort to lull him to sleep. As Frodo listened to Sam's soothing song and let his lover's voice wash over him, he allowed himself to relax: he was safe; Sam was there and he wouldn't leave. With this last thought, Frodo fell asleep. Sam felt Frodo's body go limp in his arms, signaling that his master had fallen asleep. His mission accomplished, Sam settled down to sleep himself, however strange it felt to be in Frodo's bed. No matter; their relationship had undeniably changed that evening and he would have to adjust like he always did.


	3. Chapter 3

When Frodo woke the next morning, he found himself comfortably enfolded in a pair of strong arms and he soon realized that he hadn't dreamed once the night before. He stayed still for fear of waking Sam, and silently wondered whether Sam would feel differently about what they had done the previous night once he woke up. Frodo knew without a doubt that he loved Sam with all his heart - and more besides. But he didn't want to force himself on the younger hobbit, nor did he wish to invite censure for Sam's actions when he, Frodo Baggins, had been the one to force Sam into revealing his true feelings. And although Sam had been plenty willing to make love in the fire-lit shadows of Bag End's parlor, would he be as willing to love Frodo by the light of day?

A pair of lips at his temple answered Frodo's question. "Good morning, me-dear," Sam murmured sleepily against Frodo's curly hair.

"The same to you, my dear Sam," Frodo replied, smiling even though Sam couldn't see him. He was _loved_; Sam hadn't rejected him last night, and he wouldn't do so this morning - or ever, Frodo suspected and secretly hoped.

"Shall I make your breakfast?" Sam inquired.

"We'll _both_ make breakfast," Frodo insisted. "We're equals, Sam; we've always been so. I'll allow you that my health isn't what it used to be, but I intend do more around here to make myself useful rather than sitting around reading or shutting myself away in the study translating some text or other while you do everything. I should have been doing my part before now. I'm sorry for being such a burden, Sam."

"Oh, that isn't necessary, s- Frodo," said Sam, correcting himself mid-sentence. "And I've never thought you a burden; it's been an honor working for you. Truth be told, I thought _I_ was the useless one since returning to the Shire. There's seemed less for me to do for you than before we went away or while we were on the Quest."

Frodo rolled over so that he was lying on top of Sam, their bare chests pressed close together. "Listen to me, Samwise Gamgee," he said, speaking intensely as he stared deep into his lover's eyes. "I will _always_ need you. Do you hear me? Always. I don't know how I'd get by otherwise. You are the half that makes me whole, Sam. Without you, I'm nothing. I'd just be the 'mad Baggins' who consorts with Elves and goes off on adventures. Of course, without you, I wouldn't have come back from those same adventures - not alive, anyway..."

"I can't imagine a world without you, Frodo," Sam replied, reaching up to brush a stray curl from off of Frodo's forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Frodo whispered as he bent his head to kiss Sam for the first time since the previous evening.

As he had before, Sam let Frodo set the pace, leading them to kiss languidly for several minutes before Frodo reluctantly pulled away. "As much as I'm enjoying this, I really am hungry," he admitted with a rueful grin. "Let's get started on breakfast."

"All right, me-dear," said Sam agreeably.

Frodo sat back on his heels before rolling off of Sam and setting his feet on the cold wooden floor. Biting back a yelp, he proceeded to search for clothes for both himself and Sam, seeing as those that they had been wearing the night before were currently scattered about the parlor.

"Don't bother yourself none, Frodo," called Sam, throwing back the covers and standing to join him at the dresser. "I can just nip on down to my room and get some clean clothes for myself."

"All right," Frodo replied. "I'm not sure I have anything here that would fit you, anyway."

"I figured as much," said Sam, daring to lean forward and briefly peck Frodo's cheek. "I'll see you in the kitchen."

Frodo stifled a groan as he watched Sam walk away from him, his pale skin shimmering in the early morning light and taunting Frodo. Sam was radiant, bared to his gaze; no one else would ever get to see Sam like this. Sam was _his_, just as surely as Frodo belonged to him. Quickly dressing, he followed after Sam, pausing to lean against the doorway leading into Sam's room.

Sam was currently searching through his dresser for a shirt, his breeches already on, though the braces hung loose by his side. Having successfully located a sturdy work shirt, Sam turned around to find Frodo staring unabashedly at him. Holding the shirt up to his chest and effectively covering what he considered to be his bulging stomach - even after last night, Sam still feared being called a tub of lard, as he had so often dreamed - Sam's eyes widened at the look in his Frodo's eyes.

"Gosh, but you scared me, Frodo," exclaimed Sam, even as Frodo strode purposely towards him, crossing the distance separating them in a few paces.

"Don't ever think that you have to cover yourself in front of me, Sam," he whispered intently, prying the shirt out of Sam's considerable grip and tossing it on his made-up bed that had yet to be slept in. He'd seen more in Sam's simple gesture than Sam himself probably guessed, and now sought to ease Sam's fears by raising his hands and lightly stroking Sam's upper arms.

"You're the only one I could ever love, the only one I have ever seen or imagined myself loving. There will never be another, do you hear me?" Frodo's grip on Sam tightened infinitesimally, and he gently shook the other hobbit. "I love you and only you; I wish you could see yourself the way I do, dear Sam." He reverted back to stroking Sam's arms, easing the tension he had unwittingly created. "You are absolutely and completely beautiful, just the way you are."

"Not compared -" Sam started to say, only to be cut off by Frodo.

"I know, I know - not compared to me," Frodo sighed, leaning his head against Sam's. "But Sam, have you ever stopped to think that _I'm_ the anomaly in Hobbiton? What does every family in the Shire prize in a hobbit? A round full belly, exactly like what you have. And then there's me, a hobbit so skinny that a stiff breeze is liable to blow me away. Now, I know that you're around me constantly, more so since we returned from the Quest and you moved in with me, but that doesn't mean that your standards or the way that you see yourself have to change."

"I just -" Sam paused to give thought to his words. "I can't help but feel self-conscious around you sometimes, begging your pardon. You're perfect, and I'm... nothing more than a tub of lard."

"Sam!" exclaimed Frodo, shocked beyond belief at what he was hearing. "Whatever makes you say a thing like that?"

"I have these... _dreams_," Sam revealed. "I'm being picked on by some of the village lads, teased about everything from my height to my weight." Of course, Sam neglected to mention that Frodo was often among these 'lads,' which made the hurt all the worse.

"And it's these... _lads_ who call you a tub of lard?" asked Frodo gently, wisely choosing to remain silent about just who he suspected these lads to be - namely, himself. Not that he would ever jeer at Sam.

"Yes," Sam whispered, nodding miserably.

"Well, don't you pay these dreams of yours any mind, Samwise Gamgee. Listen to what I'm saying now: you're beautiful, and I would be proud to walk from one end of Middle-earth to the other with your hand in mine."

"Would you, really?" asked Sam.

"I would indeed," Frodo replied. "Do you trust me?"

"More than anything," said Sam earnestly.

"Then trust this; trust us, and what we have. Can you do that, Sam?"

"I can try, but this is all very new to me and I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing," Sam admitted ruefully.

"Neither have I, Sam," Frodo soothed him. "We'll be learning as we go - together."

"I like the sound of that, sir. I mean, Frodo," Sam hastily corrected himself.

"And you were doing so well there for a while," Frodo teased him good naturedly. Handing Sam back his shirt, he helped him to dress, even tucking the excess material into the waistband of his breeches before raising Sam's braces and securing them on his shoulders. "There, now; all set," he proclaimed, dusting imaginary dirt from off of Sam's clothes. Draping an arm around him, Frodo guided them both towards the kitchen, "Now, how about breakfast?"

"I imagine you must be famished," Sam commented.

"No more than usual." Frodo knew that Sam wanted for him to eat more, but he hadn't had much of an appetite since the Quest; he doubted if he would ever truly know hunger again.

They entered the kitchen and each went about his own tasks, as though they knew instinctively what to do without having spoken. Theirs was a special bond - first, of friendship; and now, of love - that needed no words.

Sam set about to making his specialty: biscuits, which were so fluffy that Frodo often said he felt as though he were eating air. _These'll tempt Mister Frodo to eat_, Sam thought to himself.

Meanwhile, Frodo had got out a pan and was frying bacon, which he knew to be Sam's favorite breakfast food. As the biscuits were already in the oven, Sam joined him at the griddle to stir-fry a mix of vegetables before turning his attention to making them both some pancakes, a delicacy among Men that Aragorn had introduced them to. Having finished with the bacon, Frodo began to poach eggs for himself and Sam. In this manner, the two hobbits' breakfast was prepared in silence and they sat down to eat, Frodo having hurriedly gathered together a mix of fruit to complement Sam's vegetables.

Frodo smiled shyly across the table at Sam. It felt as though they had been doing this for years: living and cooking and loving together. Sam reached a hand across to him and gripped Frodo's hand lightly in his. Raising it to his lips, he kissed the knuckles gently.

"I love you, Frodo," he whispered.

"I love you, too, Sam," Frodo whispered back, his eyes filling unexpectedly with tears at the tenderness that he felt and was being shown.

Sam leaned over, tilting his head to the side, and brushed his lips ever-so softly against Frodo's, who instantly melted at the loving touch that had been missing so long from his life. Sam pulled away, smirking at the dazed expression his kiss had left on Frodo's face. He still couldn't believe that he - simple Samwise Gamgee, the gardener's son - had this effect on the master of Bag End, his Mister Frodo. His face softened as he watched Frodo, whose eyes were still closed. He knew that Frodo continued to be haunted by the Ring, and he knew what the Lady Arwen had offered him before leaving Minas Tirith. It wouldn't surprise Sam in the least to learn that Frodo would one day leave Middle-earth to sail West with the Elves. With that in mind, he intended to enjoy what time they had together rather than waste the precious gift that Frodo's love was.

Frodo was now the one to lean forward in search of Sam, almost desperately crushing their lips together. Their tongues did battle for several moments before Frodo drew back, apparently sated for the time being. Smirking at Sam in return, he calmly reached for a biscuit before piling a little of everything on his plate.

"What shall we do today, Sam?" he asked.

Frodo's kiss had left Sam's senses reeling, and he was hard pressed to answer right away. "I have some work to do in the garden. Didn't you express an interest in helping? I'm sure I can find something for you to do that won't be too taxing, begging your pardon."

"No offense taken, Sam," said Frodo, waving a hand dismissively. "I know my strength and stamina aren't what they used to be."

The hobbits quickly finished their breakfast after that, eager to be out in the sun and working together to restore Bag End to its former glory. Frodo accompanied Sam to the garden shed where all the supplies were stored and gladly accepted the rake that he was handed.

"I don't think raking up the stray leaves should strain you too badly," Sam mused. "But stop nonetheless if you feel the slightest bit tired."

"Alright, you're the boss," Frodo teased him, laughing lightly. He stopped abruptly, though, when he saw Sam's expression change, the muscles seeming to tighten around his eyes as his face became guarded. "Sam?" he asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

Sam seemed to be fighting an internal battle, similarly to when he had at last broken down and admitted his feelings for Frodo to the master himself. Eventually deciding that Frodo would get the truth out of him one way or another, Sam decided to speak while he could. "I can accept that you love me, sir," he began, hurrying his words along when it looked as though Frodo would object to the honorific. "But I can't ever think of anyone but _you_ being the 'boss,' to use your own words. You were my master before you were my friend, and a part of me will forever think of you in that way. Everything I do is of my own free will - that's true enough; I don't think I could help but love you, master or no - but I can't imagine anyone else giving the orders around here... certainly not me." His speech finished, Sam lowered his eyes to stare at the ground, shuffling his feet back and forth as he fidgeted uneasily in place.

"Sam, all I meant was that the garden is your domain, and I don't want to get in the way of that," said Frodo, gently placing a hand on Sam's shoulder and giving him an encouraging squeeze. "Sam-love, look at me."

The younger hobbit had never been able to deny his master anything, and doubted if he ever could again if Frodo continued to use that particular endearment. Raising his head to meet Frodo's eyes, he gasped and fought the urge to take a step backwards at the utter vulnerability shining back at him. Frodo had bared himself completely - even more so than when he had entered Sam's body the previous evening - leaving nothing uncovered, even at the risk of inviting Sam's ridicule.

"I don't ever want you to think that I own you in any way, Samwise Gamgee," said Frodo, his voice unusually serious. "You may call me 'sir,' and even 'master,' if you so choose, while we're out together in public; I realize that it's expected of you by society, as much as I wish it were otherwise. But I hope you know that I don't hold with such nonsense as that. We can belong to each other, as long as that belonging is by choice and not out of duty. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I understand," said Sam, nodding slowly to show his agreement, "Doesn't mean I have to agree with it, though." At Frodo's questioning look, he elaborated: "Personally, I don't see anything wrong with you owning me. In fact, I'd like nothing better. I love you that much."

Frodo gave a little laugh. "Now _I_ don't understand. Sam, what are you saying?"

"I'm not rightly sure," said Sam, shaking his head a little as evidence of his own confusion. "I just love you, I guess, and want to be yours completely."

"Oh, Sam." Frodo threw down his rake and moved forward to slide his hands so that they settled at the small of Sam's back. "You _are_ mine, just as I am yours. I don't need to own you for us to belong to each other."

Sam smiled as he rested his head in the space between Frodo's neck and shoulders. "I love you," he whispered, sighing contentedly.

"I love you, too," Frodo replied softly, pressing his lips to Sam's sun-kissed curls.

They remained that way, wrapped up in each other's arms, for many minutes. Sam was the first to pull away. "I reckon we should get to work now, Frodo," he remarked a little sadly. "Those leaves won't rake themselves."

"Right you are, Samwise," said Frodo cheerfully, kissing Sam's forehead before bending down to retrieve the rake where he had discarded it in favor of comforting his distraught lover. Once he had straightened, he posed a surprising question to Sam. "What do you say to a swimming lesson when we're done here?"

"Me... learn to swim? I'm not sure that's a good idea, Frodo," Sam protested. "You saw what happened on the Quest."

"And that's exactly why you _should_ learn," Frodo countered. "I'm not expecting you to go off on another Quest any time soon, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"You'll be there to catch me and make sure I don't drown?" Sam couldn't help but ask, even if he already knew the answer.

"Of course, always," Frodo replied instantly.

"Alright," Sam agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. Even knowing that Frodo would be there and the idea of seeing him in naught but his skin again - after all, you couldn't very well swim in your clothes, as he knew from experience - wasn't entirely enough to convince Sam. He'd make the best of things, though, as he always did.

Sam set to weeding the nearby plants with a vengeance, watching out of the corner of his eye as Frodo began the task of raking the leaves. Except… he was doing it all wrong. He was gripping the rake at the very top, rather than spreading his hands out to allow for him to cover more ground. "Frodo, me-dear," Sam called. Rising to his feet again and pausing briefly to crack his back despite having only been crouched over for no more than a few minutes - Frodo's wasn't the only body who hadn't recovered entirely from the ordeal of the Quest - he approached his lover to fix his posture.

"Yes, Sam?" Frodo replied, turning at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Ah, well..." Sam stumbled over his words slightly, as he was unsure how exactly to correct his master without making it seem as if that's what he was doing.

"Out with it, Sam," said Frodo with a laugh.

"It's just..." Sam tried again. "Oh, here, let me show you," he said at last, approaching Frodo and leaning over him so that his chest was pressed up against Frodo's back. "See, you were holding it like this," he demonstrated, covering Frodo's hands with his. "But you're supposed to hold it like this." He guided Frodo's hands into the correct position and remained pressed close together before eventually retreating. "That should help you rake more leaves than you would have gotten otherwise."

"I thought something felt wrong," Frodo exclaimed. "Thank you, Sam. And... you don't ever need to fear correcting me on something. When we're alone, I'm not your master; I'm just Frodo."

Sam nodded, unsure of what to say in response to that, and returned to his weeding, Frodo's eyes staring fixedly at him all the while.

"Well, well, well..." came an unpleasant nasally voice from the fence overlooking Bag End's garden. "Looks like the servant finally got one over on his master."

"Sod off, Sandyman," said Sam, blushing at the implications of his statement. "We don't have to defend ourselves to you. You're lucky Mister Frodo doesn't have you thrown out of Hobbiton for what you did and allowed to have happen."

"Your talk don't scare me none, Gamgee," the other hobbit retorted. "Your master's cracked, and his uncle before him. And you're headed the same way if you plan on stickin' round for much longer."

While Sam and Ted Sandyman were engaged in their verbal sparring match, Frodo had been busy too, climbing over the fence until he was directly behind the combative hobbit. Poking him in the back with the handle of his rake, Frodo threatened him as he would have if it were Sting in his hand. "I'd sod off if I were you, Ted," he remarked pleasantly. "You see, while Sam and I were off saving Middle-earth, we learned how to defend ourselves using a vast range of weapons, meaning that I can dispose of you with this rake as easily as if it were a sword. So I'd tread very, _very_ carefully if I were you, lest I get angry and decide to mete out the justice you so richly deserve but which I've deigned to hold in reserve."

Suitably frightened, Ted beat a hasty retreat, leaving Frodo panting heavily from the exertion of saying exactly what had been on his mind and which he'd long kept silent about. "That felt good," he said, glancing askance at Sam and grinning broadly. Sam replied with an answering grin, and the two returned to their previous tasks.

Luckily for both hobbits, there were no further disturbances, and seeing as there was little to do to improve the garden's splendor - thanks to Sam's caring diligence, Bag End flourished - they were soon done with the menial day-to-day tasks that Sam usually did on his own.

Shutting the door to the gardening shed, Frodo took off, leaping across the fence and calling back to Sam from over his shoulder, "Race you to the swimming hole."

Sam laughed and gave chase, glad to see Frodo shed his cares as easily as he would very soon be shedding his clothes. Distracted by thoughts of once more seeing Frodo in naught but his skin, Sam almost ran in to the other hobbit, who had stopped in the middle of the path. "What's wrong, Frodo?" asked Sam, stepping up to his side and following Frodo's line of sight.

"Nothing, I assure you," said Frodo, taking Sam's hand in his and entwining their fingers. "I just decided to wait for you - that's all."

"Well, let's go, then," said Sam, sounding more eager than he felt. Frodo's presence was all well and good, but Sam couldn't help but still fear the water as he recalled with frightening clarity the feeling of sinking to the bottom of the river and thinking that Frodo would go away and leave him. That was the crux of the issue right there, wasn't it? Although Sam knew that Frodo would never abandon him - and that he wouldn't have while on the Quest, either - there still remained that residual fear that Frodo would ultimately decide Sam wasn't worth the bother and leave to find someone better suited for his needs and desires. What did a gentle-hobbit such as Frodo see in a simple gardener like Sam, anyway? His fear of learning to swim had nothing to do with the water, did it? Not really. It was all in Sam's mind, this lingering insecurity.

Now Sam was the one to stop dead in his tracks, forcing Frodo to halt as well. "What is it, Sam?" he asked gently, taking note of the other hobbit's rigid posture and the way Sam refused to look directly at him.

Sam's eyes darted between somewhere over Frodo's shoulder and the ground as he struggled to find the words with which to answer Frodo. "On the Quest..." he began haltingly. "I followed you into the water, despite not knowing how to swim. As I started sinking, it felt to me like - and this is just my own opinion, sir, which I know doesn't count for much - you were thinking of leaving me to drown and continuing on by yourself. Is that true?"

Frodo's eyes widened in alarm at hearing Sam's words, which also gave him pause to think. For the sake of the Quest, in order to ensure its success, would he have let Sam drown and gone on alone? Having survived the Quest along with Sam, he knew for a fact that he wouldn't have got far without the other hobbit, who had saved him time and again, even when he hadn't deserved such steadfast loyalty. But would he have let Sam drown?

"No," he said at last, "I wouldn't have left you to drown, Sam. You are more precious to me than all of Middle-earth, and had you asked it of me, I would have been willing to sacrifice the world and more for your sake alone."

"Would you, _really_?" asked Sam in wonder.

"I would," Frodo replied gravely. "Is this where your fear of the water and swimming comes from? You think I'm going to leave you?"

"I suppose, a bit," Sam admitted, shrugging his shoulders in attempted nonchalance.

"Well, you have nothing to fear, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo declared, crowding into Sam's personal space and wrapping his arms tightly around his friend. "I'm never going to leave you, not unless you send me away," he whispered in the other hobbit's ear.

"I guess we'll be together a long time, then. I can't imagine being without you, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled tenderly at Sam and leaned up on his toes to kiss him, framing the other's face with his hands and running his fingers through Sam's auburn curls. "Come on, let's go swimming," he said as he pulled away, once more taking Sam's hand in his and leading the way down the path towards the swimming hole.

A copse of trees surrounded the pond on Frodo's property, affording them a modicum of privacy. Smiling reassuringly at Sam from over his shoulder, Frodo led him to the shoreline before dropping his hand and proceeding to undress. Sam followed suit, and soon both were naked. Sam still felt slightly awkward, not used to being in aught but his skin around anyone - not even his family - much less Frodo, who he had loved for probably much longer than he was willing to admit. Frodo, seeming to sense his unease, once more smiled reassuringly and began steadily walking into the pond until the water was up to his belly button.

"Come on in, Sam," he called. "The water's not deep, and it feels great!"

Swallowing once and steeling his nerve, Sam waded into the water until he was level with Frodo and holding his hand once again. "Now what?" he asked, unsure what followed when learning how to swim.

"Walk around," suggested Frodo. "Get used to the water until you're comfortable. After that, it's up to you how much we do. I suppose it'd be best to start with floating on your back. Then I can teach you a couple easy strokes for getting around."

"All right," said Sam agreeably. "Will you walk with me?"

"Of course, Sam," Frodo assured him.

With Frodo's hand in his, Sam soon grew accustomed to feeling the water move around him, and he grew bolder, sinking to his knees so that the water was up to his chest and almost lapping at his neck. Frodo's proud smile made heat pool in his belly, and his cheeks flushed under his lover's intense gaze. He hoped the look in Frodo's eyes meant what he thought it did; he wouldn't mind having Frodo fill him again, despite having only made love for the first time ever the previous evening. He dared voice his thoughts to Frodo, who laughed, though not unkindly, and called him incorrigible.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" asked Frodo later, after many minutes spent circling the pool.

"I'm fine," said Sam. "I think I'm doing better here because the water's still, whereas the water before was a fast-flowing river."

"Are you ready to try floating on your back?"

"How do I start?" was Sam's reply.

"Let the water guide you," Frodo instructed. He helped Sam onto his back, keeping a steadying hand underneath him all the while. "Now, to avoid sinking, just imagine that there's a loaf of bread resting on your stomach. You don't want it to get wet, so you have to raise yourself up to keep the bread above the water line. Good," he praised Sam. "Now try moving your arms." Sam did so, and he began to move, gliding through the water while Frodo walked alongside him, continuing to keep a supportive hand underneath him at all times. "Good, Sam, you're doing fine," he said.

They continued practicing different strokes all through the afternoon, Sam growing more and more comfortable the longer he spent in the water. Finally, though, they had had enough and crawled out of the water on their hands and knees to collapse on top of their discarded clothes.

"I enjoyed that, Frodo. Thank you," said Sam.

"My pleasure," he replied, turning his head as little as possible while still managing to keep Sam in his sight.

They lapsed into silence after that, staring up at the blue sky dotted with clouds and watching the birds fly overhead. Frodo chewed his lower lip as he worked up the courage to ask Sam something very important. Still, if Sam could master his fear and learn to swim, then Frodo could do no less.

"Sam..." Frodo began hesitantly. Sam turned his head, and upon seeing the serious look in Frodo's eyes, rolled over on his side and balanced on his elbow, granting Frodo his full attention. "I was wondering - would you... would you make love to me?"

Sam stared at him in slack-jawed amazement, his mouth left gaping like a fish and his eyes wide with shock. "_What_?" he gasped. "Are you serious about this, Frodo?"

"I was never more serious in my life, Sam," Frodo replied evenly. "Watching you swim today has given me courage. I'm ready; I know I am. Please, Sam - will you do this for me?"

"Only if you're sure, now," Sam cautioned him.

"I am." Frodo then lay on his back and spread his legs open in an invitation for Sam to have his way with him. "There's a small jar of oil in one of my pockets. I thought it best to be prepared."

Sam was nervous while at the same time flattered by the confidence Frodo showed in trusting him to make this good, to erase the memories of past atrocities that the orcs had committed against him. How could he refuse when his master and lover was relying on him so? Searching through Frodo's pockets, he located the jar of oil and approached Frodo on shaky limbs. He wasn't going to back down, though; it was just nerves. He wanted this - he really did - as did Frodo. And he had never been able to deny Frodo anything. He was just worried about being a disappointment or accidentally hurting Frodo, thereby causing Frodo to hate him and turn him out of Bag End, maybe even banishing him from Hobbiton like old Mister Bilbo had been banished from Erebor.

"You're thinking too much," Frodo chided him. "Relax. Of course, you can always say 'no' if you want; you never have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

Sam knew that he was being given an easy out, but he hadn't been raised to back down from a problem. He'd faced his fear of water by learning to swim, and he would face this with the same courage as Frodo had shown all throughout their quest together. "I'm fine," he said, smiling reassuringly down at Frodo. "Just nerves, is all. Weren't you nervous making love to me last night?"

"I suppose I was," Frodo admitted. "I hadn't had a good first experience myself, and I wanted you to enjoy yourself."

"And I did," Sam assured him. "Now let me do the same for you."

With that said, he bent his head down to capture Frodo's lips with his. While Frodo was suitably distracted, Sam's hand drifted down the length of his body until he discovered Frodo's entrance. He eased an experimental finger inside and swallowed Frodo's gasp of surprise by once more sealing their mouths together. Once he felt that Frodo had adjusted to the initial intrusion, he fully sheathed his finger and began crooking it in an attempt to stretch Frodo so that he would be able to accept the entirety of Sam's considerable girth. One finger was joined by two, and then a third, before Sam deemed Frodo ready. All the while, neither one had spoken a word, choosing instead to share breath and sloppy kisses.

Retrieving the jar of oil, Sam dabbed a little on his fingers and began slicking himself up, stifling his groans of pleasure at being touched. He couldn't wait to fill Frodo up so that the other hobbit could know the same ecstasy as Sam had experienced the previous evening. He looked up to find Frodo watching him intently, pupils blown wide with either fear or lust, Sam wasn't sure which, although he hoped it was the latter.

"Are you sure you still want this?" he asked, thinking it better to be safe than sorry.

"I'm positive, Sam," Frodo replied in a strained voice. "Now, please - get on with it before I explode."

"We can't have that, now, can we?" asked Sam, teasing Frodo in an effort to distract him from the initial burn as he slid the tip of his oil-slicked shaft past Frodo's entrance. He held still long enough for Frodo to adjust and accept the penetration, and then slid seamlessly all the way in. "How does that feel?" he asked worriedly.

"Fine, Sam. Just keep moving," Frodo ordered tersely, his jaw clenched and forehead furrowed in a look of intense concentration.

"Of course." Sam felt guilty. He must be doing something wrong for Frodo to look like _that_, and to respond to him in such a manner. He pulled back and eased forward again, repeating the motion several times. Gradually, Frodo's face relaxed and he began to lose the tense look he had been wearing before. He even smiled at Sam and spoke encouragingly to him.

Sam felt his release building up inside him, and increased his pace to match. Frodo's breath hitched at the same moment as Sam's hips stuttered, and their seed spilled from them at the same time. Sam remained sheathed within Frodo for several agonizing long moments as he waited for Frodo to open his eyes and look at him, giving him some sign as to his success or lack thereof.

There were tears shimmering in Frodo's eyes when Sam finally withdrew. "Did I hurt you? Oh, Master, I'm sorry!" Sam exclaimed, tears quick to form in his own eyes.

"No, Sam, no," Frodo entreated him. "Forgive me for frightening you. It was perfect, as were you, my dearest. I just never knew lovemaking could feel like _that_!"

"Did I make it good for you, then?" asked Sam tentatively.

"You certainly did!" Frodo replied.

"I'm so relieved," Sam exclaimed, releasing a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

They were interrupted, then, as thunder rumbled above them and the sky darkened from clouds gathering close together in the sky. Sam and Frodo hurriedly stood and helped each other get cleaned up and dressed, before grabbing hands and running back towards Bag End. They weren't quite fast enough, though, as the skies opened and they were drenched by a sudden onslaught of wind and rain.

Laughing gaily, Frodo took Sam's hands in his and spun around in a circle, raising his face to the sky and thereby allowing the rain to wash him clean. Sam watched him with a look akin to wonder on his face, before grabbing Frodo by his braces and dragging him forward until their lips were touching, moving and melding against one another as though they could be devoured. Neither cared about the downpour surrounding them; all that mattered was the hobbit in their arms as they held on to each other with a fierceness born of the fires of Mordor.

As suddenly as the rain came, it stopped, leaving the two hobbits feeling surprisingly bereft. The sun came out, then, shining on the dew-sprinkled grass as they walked home in silence, their joined hands occasionally swinging between their bodies. Many times one or the other opened their mouths to speak, only to close them again. What was there to say, really? After all they had seen and done, what words were there that could sum up the experience? Making love, on both their parts, had merely been the next step in their relationship. Truly, Frodo and Sam had been a couple for much longer than a day; they had been together their whole lives.

Frodo reached the threshold of Bag End first and held the door open for Sam, who immediately moved to divest Frodo of his overcoat and hang it up on one of the many pegs lining the hallway.

"How 'bout a bath, to warm up those chilled bones?" Sam suggested.

"Only if you'll share with me," said Frodo, adopting his best pout that never failed to get Sam to do what he wanted - not that Sam would ever even think of denying his Frodo anything, master or no.

Sam drew the water - though only after insisting that there was nothing Frodo could do to help, and would he please save his energy by waiting until he was called? - filling the tub to its brim, and helped Frodo to undress as he had so many times before. This time, though, his touch held a new tenderness to it as he drew the shirt off over Frodo's head and pulled his trousers down to his ankles before gesturing for Frodo to step out of them. He had always revered his master; that much would have been obvious to every hobbit in the Shire. But something had changed - first with the Quest, and now with the new status of their relationship. For once, Frodo returned Sam's reverence, undressing him with the utmost care and then gripping his arm for support as he stepped into the tub. Settling himself in the water, Frodo bent forward slightly as he waited for Sam to climb in behind him, only then leaning back against Sam's sturdy chest.

No real bathing actually took place. The two hobbits simply relaxed, enjoying each other's company as they let the warm water seep into their bones until their skin was wrinkled and pruned. Sam left the tub first before gesturing for Frodo to climb out. He was careful in his movements as he dried Frodo with a fluffy white towel, especially around Frodo's shoulder where he had been stabbed on Weathertop. Gandalf had said that as a result of his wound, Frodo's body temperature would always be lower than what was strictly normal for a healthy hobbit, so Sam sought to relieve him of his discomfort, if only for a little while.

Once Frodo was dried and clad in his favorite loungewear, he then turned his attention to Sam, giving the other hobbit the same treatment that he had received. Sam tried to stay still, he really did; but it was just so hard watching Frodo go down on his knees to wipe Sam's legs dry and brush out the hair on his feet. Frodo didn't belong down there; he should be upright and masterful. Sam was the one who was lower than Frodo; it should be him on his knees tending to Frodo, not the other way around. But Sam and Frodo had had this argument many times, even before they had officially become a couple, and Frodo always won out, insisting that he and Sam were equals. Sam wasn't convinced, but as Frodo was the master, he would listen and obey.

While Sam dressed in whatever he had that was most comfortable, Frodo was messing about in the kitchen, fixing himself and Sam each a cup of hot chocolate. Although it was late summer, fall would soon be upon them - and with it, an autumn chill. And as Frodo always said, you could never have _too_ much chocolate, in any shape or form.

"Frodo, love, where are you?" Sam called out as he wandered down the hallway from his bedroom.

"I'm in the living room, Sam!" Frodo called back. "And I have hot chocolate waiting, and a nice roaring fire."

Sam padded into the room in his bare feet, settling himself on the floor beside Frodo and accepting the brimming cup of hot chocolate that Frodo held out for him to take. From his side, Frodo set a book in his lap, looking hopefully at Sam. "I thought, maybe, I might read for a while?" he said, the inflection of his voice making it sound like a question.

"I'd love to hear you read, Frodo," Sam replied. "Is it the story you've been working on lately, the one that's given you so much trouble?"

"Yes, it's the story 'Of Beren and Lúthien'." He picked up the book, opened it to the first page, and started to read. "Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days, there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures..."

Frodo had been reading for some time when there came a knock at the door. Opening it, he discovered Merry and Pippin on the other side. Stifling a groan of dismay - he'd wanted Sam to himself that night - he let them in and directed them to the living room, where Sam was waiting with two additional cups of hot chocolate.

"Frodo's finished his translation of the story 'Of Beren and Lúthien'," he announced joyfully.

"That's great news, Fro," said Merry, clapping Frodo on the back. "We know how much trouble it's been giving you."

"Yeah, we'd love to hear it," piped up Pippin. "If you don't mind, that is."

"Not at all. Make yourselves comfortable," said Frodo graciously. "After all, my house is your house." Once everyone was settled (again), Frodo picked up where he had left off, reading late into the evening.

* * *

"...Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost."

Frodo's voice trailed away as he read aloud the conclusion to one of the most heartbreaking yet touching stories he had ever come across in his many years of translating Elvish texts. He looked around him and chuckled to see Merry leaning against Bilbo's favorite armchair, fast asleep, with Pippin's head resting in his lap. Sam, likewise, was curled up next to Frodo, a smile playing across his face even in sleep. Shaking his head in bemusement, Frodo stood and moved carefully among the slumbering bodies to replace his book on the bookshelf.

"What would I do without you lot?" Frodo asked himself as he re-joined Sam, laying down so that he was cocooned by the other's hefty bulk. Having grown tired himself while reading, he soon drifted off, his last conscious thought being that his life couldn't get any more perfect that this, surrounded by the people he loved best in Middle-earth.


End file.
